


Love Me Harder

by warriorwidow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-04-09 02:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4330176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warriorwidow/pseuds/warriorwidow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post TWS, Bucky and Natasha are sent on a mission in upstate New York. In the suburbs, they must pretend to be newlyweds, but can they ignore their rising feelings towards each other as both of their memories of the past start to rise?</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> First story. A mix of background from the movies and comics, but mainly from my imagination. Will eventually be M rated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter just to force myself to post something. Hopefully it interests you.

"You're sure you can handle this?" Maria Hill asked her once they entered the elevator.   
         "Piece of cake," Natasha shrugged as she slid her ID badge and pressed a button to get to the basement level.  
         "Natasha," Maria spoke her name in scold like tone and gave her a pointed look to match. "Seriously."  
         "Seriously?" Natasha raised her eyebrows and sighed. "I'll be fine. It's not me you have to worry about."  
         "I told you, he's been fully rehabilitated," Maria went on as the elevator stopped and the doors opened.   
         "So he remembers everything?" Natasha asked, trying not to sound too curious.  
         "Not exactly," Maria replied as they walked down a stark hallway, passing room after room. "He remembers who he is and has full control over himself, but the rest is still a bit of a jumble."  
         "A jumble?"  
         "He says his memories aren't fully intact," Maria explained as they came to a stop in front of an unmarked door. "That he gets bits and pieces when triggered, but has no real power over when they come. Natasha, we wouldn't send him out on a mission if we weren't certain he's not a danger."  
         "I know," Natasha nodded once, having heard all this back in Fury's office. "I got this," she said assuringly when Maria gave her an unsteady look.   
         "I'll see you tomorrow," Maria ultimately said. "9am sharp."  
         Left alone in front of the locked door, Natasha had time to breathe. She'd been so caught up in trying to seem fine with all that was going on, she didn't have time to actually process the information. Shield had fallen. Steve Rogers was off the grid, not in contact with anyone, herself included. Nick Fury was trying to rebuild, but so was Hydra.

         That’s why this mission was so important. Everyone was still scrambling to hold the pieces of what was left together, there was no one left to tend to their special guest. She'd just been informed that the Winter Soldier had turned himself in months ago, soon after the incident on the hellicarrier.   
         According to Fury and Hill, he asked to be put in a jail where he couldn't hurt anyone. This surprised them, but not Natasha. When she knew him, he was nothing if not mindful of others. Of course no one else knew about their time in the Red Room besides her. She wasn't even sure if he knew.

         Truthfully she was still undecided on whether she wanted him to remember her or not. On the one hand, he was her first love and they’d shared something indescribable, but on the other, any time she thought of him she felt a swell of pain surge through her whole body.

         No one else had that affect on her.  
         If he did remember, he'd kept his mouth shut about it to her superiors otherwise they wouldn't allow them to be paired together. It was a low level mission with minimal risk, unusual for her but a good way for Shield to see if he was truly reformed.   
         Fury took pride in her ability to be comfortable with any and all circumstances, now wasn't the time to disappoint in that area. Telling anyone about their past would only bring up unnecessary questions.   
She was professional, and could put her mixed feelings towards him aside. Yet here she stood, unable to get herself to open the door.

         She shut her eyes as her mind played tricks on her, flashing between memories of the winter soldier trying to kill her on the streets of Washington D.C. and a fading memory of the way his metal hand felt on her skin as he ran it along her naked back.   
         She shook her head clear, telling herself to rein it in. Forcing herself to steady her breathing, she put a hand on the doorknob, swiped her ID badge and opened the door. It swung open slowly and she stepped inside, the man she'd fallen in love with all those years ago sat still on the single bed in the corner.

         She wasn't prepared for the way her heartbeat sped up when he looked up at her, the clear blue of his eyes icier than she remembered.   
         "Sergeant Barnes," she cleared her throat, trying to sound as professional as she hoped she looked. It was the moment of truth for her. Did he or didn't he remember her? Remember the brief moments of bliss they brought each other in a lifetime of despair.   
         "Natalia," The tone in his voice paired with the name he couldn't have known gave her her answer.   
         This wasn't going to be easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Future chapters will be longer and hopefully better. This story will be multi-chapter and a mix of present day and past flashbacks. Please be kind.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for the kind words and kudos' (which I just learned is a good thing lol)

His mind had been working overtime the past few months, trying desperately to remember who he was. It was hard when the memories that surfaced were often violent, detailed scenes of himself murdering or torturing some poor sap for reasons unknown. He called those 'winter soldier memories'. Those were his least favorite.

       Then there were 'bucky' memories, most of which involved the blonde man he now knew was Steve Rogers. Those were usually happier, though sometimes involved wartime, but they always left him a twinge of sadness. 

       He thought it would be easier if he could just organize his thoughts, but it wasn't. Instead it left him in this strange limbo. He wasn't the killing machine the Russians had made him, but he wasn't a carefree bachelor of the 40's either. That's where she came in.

      The first time it happened, he was in the middle of one of the countless therapy sessions Shield had Him attending. The skinny man with square glasses whose name he didn't bother to learn had asked him to think about what had happened recently on a freeway overpass. He focused, trying and failing to pull his mind free of hydra's last memory wipe. When he was just about to give up, a flash of red flew across his mind.   
       He remembered her hair whipping past him, the vibrant shade making the world pale in comparison. Then, he wasn't on the streets of D.C. anymore; he didn't know where he was, but he wasn't alone. The same fiery strands of hair were now tangled in his fingertips, soft and silky as he combed it back. 

      As soon as the memory came, it was gone, and he'd been thoroughly confused. Since then, the slightest trigger brought up a memory of her. He didn't know how, but he kept remembering random facts about her; things he shouldn't know.  

       Then there were flashes of her skin, soft and warm against his own. Sometimes he could feel her full lips pressed against his own as they got lost in each other. He had no idea what to call those memories.   
       All he knew was that those were the only memories he'd regained where he felt like himself; whoever that was. He thought of her and there was no pressure, no expectations to be someone he wasn't. Of course thinking of her was completely different than actually having her in front of him.  
       As soon as she walked in, he felt his mouth go dry, like his body already knew how to react to her. He almost thought he'd imagined how beautiful she was, but here she stood, lighting up the darkness he'd come to know as his room.   
       She spoke his rank and last name, her deep voice music to his ears. He knew he was gaping at her, but didn't care. He knew her. He didn't know how or why or when, but that didn't matter right now. Right now, she was the only thing he could think of that didn't make him angry or upset.   
       "Natalia," he spoke the name as soon as his mind conjured it up. He didn't know where it came from, but from her reaction he knew it struck a cord with her. She'd been trained well, her expression remaining stoic, but her eyes flickered for s split second, showing him her true feelings. She recognized the name and was surprised he'd used it.   
       "It's Natasha, actually," she clarified as if he'd just made a mistake. He knew he hadn't though, which was saying a lot considering there wasn't a whole lot he was sure of these days.   
       "No," he shook his head slowly, more determined than ever. "It's not."  
       "Yes," she nodded sternly once, her eyes darting away from him. He followed her gaze to a corner of his room where a small but active security camera had been since he moved in. “It is.”

“Mm,” His response was almost silent, as he fully understood. For whatever reason she didn't want whoever was watching to know what he knew about her; which wasn't much.

       "Right, so,” She cleared her throat and handed him a file. "I just wanted to formally introduce myself and bring you this." He took the Manila folder with his metal hand, suddenly self-conscious about it. "It's the background info on our cover for the mission. Read it, memorize it, live it," she was all business, and he had no choice but to follow her lead. He had so many questions for her, but didn't want to ask them in front of the camera she'd pointed out.   
       "Yes ma'am," he nodded, mesmerized by her emerald eyes even as they glared at him.   
       "We have a meeting tomorrow at 9, someone will come by to bring you," she was looking right at him but it felt like she was looking through him. She might as well have been talking to a wall. "Don't screw this up," she said, slightly more sincerely, her mouth almost twitching into a smirk.   
       Without another word, she was gone, taking any answers she might've had about his past with her.   
.  
.  
       Late at night he tossed and turned, unable to shake her from his thoughts even in sleep. Unconscious, his mind seemed most likely to pull memories forward, though not always pleasant ones.   
       He'd dreamt of this place before, a training facility where the Russians had kept him. He remembered fighting and living there, but most of all he remembered the very first machine they'd used to wipe his memories and brainwash him.   
       He wasn't in the room with the machine though. He was in a large room with wooden floors and old looking punching bags that hung from the ceilings. He felt at ease here, like coming to this room at this specific time was all part of his routine.   
       He wasn't alone here, instead surrounded by about twenty teenage girls, all dressed in workout clothing. His voice echoed off the walls, shouting commands in Russian. They responded to each order with a new position, sometimes striking a punching bag in front of them.   
       A short bell sounded and all the girls bowed to him before scurrying off to somewhere he wasn't privileged to know. He didn't care either; usually he was only concerned with the fact that his part was done. Not today though.  
       Today, his curiosity was getting the best of him. For weeks now his eye had been drawn to one of his pupils. She was the smallest of them all, with red hair and light freckles spread sparsely on her face. He'd noticed her because she was the best. She never needed to be taught a move twice and she fought with a determination no one else had displayed.   
       He waited till the rest of the girls had all gone to approach her. Everything in his mind was screaming at him to stop, but a stronger pull in his chest made him do it. Like every day before, she stayed behind to practice what was learned, her small fists pounding into the punching bag in swift motions.   
       He stood behind the bag, holding it steady as she looked up at him for a moment. He nodded and she continued wordlessly, hitting with all her might. Her short bangs stuck to her forehead in a sticky sweat while her ponytail swung wildly with each movement.   
       Up close, she was shorter than he remembered, probably no bigger than the punching bag she was attacking. He noticed how her body seemed more developed than the other girls' yet she still had a baby face.   
       "Stop." He'd barely finished the word and she'd already complied. She held herself still, her chest heaving up and down. "You'll never win with brute strength. You're too small." He noted how she tried to hide her disappointment in his words and tried to clarify. "You're clever, though," she perked up a bit at that. "We can use that."  
       "Thank you sir," she bowed her head. He knew it was a proper address but it felt wrong to him.  
       "How old are you?" He inquired, making her glance at the floor and clasp her hands together behind her back.  
       "I don't know sir," she answered.  
       "What do you mean you don't know?"   
       "They haven't told me, sir," she explained. "But I earned my name last month, sir," She volunteered almost eagerly.   
       “What is it?” He asked.  
       “Natalia," She spoke proudly, and he could tell she was trying not to grin.  
       "Do you like it?" He found himself asking, knowing how empty he himself had felt without a name.  
       "Yes, sir," she nodded, her green eyes bright. "I do," she paused then looked back up at him quizzically. "Do you?"  
       "Yes," he nodded, allowing himself crack a smile. "I think Natalia is a beautiful name."  
       "Thank you, sir," she was beaming at him now, proud to have something to introduce herself as.

       "Sir?" She spoke cautiously.   
       "Yes, Natalia?" He said it purely to see her smile.   
       "What is... _your_ name?" Her voice dropped a few decibels to ask.   
       "My name?" He repeated, for some reason not expecting it. He raked his mind, searching and searching like he had many times before, still coming up empty. His handlers referred to him simply as 'soldier' and he'd never felt the need for anything more. Yet standing in front of this child, he felt a pang of jealousy. She had a name and he didn't.   
       "Sir?" Her voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "It...it's okay if you don't remember," she told him kindly. "There're some things I don't remember either..." She shrugged lightly as if she'd made peace with this fact.

       His heart tugged in his chest again, and he was strangely thankful for this child and the person he was around her. He gave her the highest form of praise he could think of. "You're going to make a great weapon, Natalia."  
       He woke up with a jolt, her voice from all those years ago still clear in his mind. There were so many questions he didn't have answers to, but now he had one.

       He'd known her name because she told it to him herself once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it :)
> 
> Aaaand just as an fyi, nooooothing sexual/romantic will happen between the two while she's underage. Just my own personal preference I guess.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who read :)

  
      Natalie Ryan. Twenty-eight years old. Born and raised in New York City, but well travelled. A college graduate with a degree in business who started her own boutique in SoHo. Enter James Rushman. A thirty one year old software developer who’s never been west of Oklahoma. He's hired to design her shop's website, the two meet, fall madly in love, and the rest is history. 

      Natasha had been telling and retelling their story to herself all morning as she got dressed. Now on the elevator headed to yet another basement level, she's mainly doing it to distract herself.   
      "Married six months ago. A quiet ceremony in Vermont," her voice was a whisper as she stared at her reflection in the silver elevator doors. Her eyes looked worn, telling anyone who looked at her about sleepless night. She'd tossed and turned, unable to free her mind all night.   
      James.   
      She'd been almost afraid to speak his first name when they were face to face, sure that her voice would crack like a nervous teenager’s. That’s what she had been when they first met, a child on the brink of a life she had no way to prepare for. As the elevator dinged while it passed floor after floor, she tried to push down the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

      She still remembered the aggravated, lost look in his eyes when she asked him to remember his name. As young as she was, she was perceptive. Although the other girls had been afraid of him, mostly because of his metal arm, she never was.

      In the Red Room, she didn’t have many allies, but she liked to consider him one. He’d take time after class to show her more advanced combat moves than he showed the others, paying special attention to her she wasn’t used to. His compliments were unlike those she’d heard before; focused on her talents and abilities rather than her looks. It wasn’t till she was older that they’d truly gotten to know each other, but from the start, they’d had a connection.

      As she looked at her weary reflection, she wondered what he thought of her yesterday, and hoped she came off as the confident woman she was; not the emotional wreck she’d been the last night. Nothing could’ve prepared her for the sound of her name on his lips. Nothing. He’d said it innocently, but it brought back a flood of memories that made her shut her eyes.

      _“Kick harder, Natalia,” He’d shouted to her when she was a child._

_“Is that the best you got, Natalia?” He’d challenged her when she was older._

_“I love you, Natalia,” He’d whispered to her late at night, when he snuck into her room._

      “Romanoff?” A woman’s concerned voice pulled her back to reality. She blinked her eyes open to see the elevator doors opened and Maria Hill standing in front of her with furrowed brows and an expectant expression. “You alright?”

      “Y-Yeah,” Natasha cleared her throat and stood up straighter. “Of course. Headache,” She shrugged it off and exited, falling into step beside Hill.

      “If you’re not up to this, no one would blame you,” Maria said in a friendly tone Natasha wasn’t used to.

      “I’m fine,” She replied, giving a reassuring smile. “So what’s all this for?” Natasha asked, gesturing to the wide-open room before her. In the center stood a large hanging green screen with camera equipment in front of it. To its left and right were two movable curtain walls with racks of assorted clothing.

      “This,” Hill held her arms up. “Is your wedding day,” She gave Natasha a smirk.

      “My what?” Natasha heard perfectly clear, but still asked.

      “Your wedding day,” Hill repeated. “Congrats,” She said monotonously. Before she could explain further, the elevator dinged with another arrival. Natasha held her breath as James walked out the doors with two Shield agents behind him.

      “No cuffs is a good sign,” Natasha noted out loud.

      “Show of good faith,” Hill shrugged.

      “Agent Hill,” James gave a polite nod in her direction before setting his eyes on Natasha. “My betrothed,” He smirked and bowed at her.

      “Cute,” Natasha spoke uninterestedly.

"So here's what we've got so far,” Maria cut in. “Someone inside a company named Wayne Enterprises has been syphoning company money to an offshore account used to fund Hydra."

"How much money are we talking?" Natasha asked.

      "Millions," James whistled at the amount, and Agent Hill nodded. "We suspect it’s one of Hydra’s main sources of income." 

      “So the sooner it’s shut down, the better,” Natasha surmised.

“Exactly,” Hill nodded. "We've known the company was shady for years, but we finally caught a break after the mess in D.C. Someone slipped up and our operative inside was able to send actual proof of money being funneled through embedded codes in documents only accessible with a certain clearance level. Our guy narrowed down the search to the company’s IT department until…”

“Until?” Natasha goaded, not liking the answer already.

“Until he was found face down in the Hudson River,” She divulged, making James and Natasha exchange glances. “It wasn’t a professional kill, so we know whoever this is wasn’t trained by Hydra. Our Intel is solid, guys. We wouldn’t send you in if we weren’t sure.”

“I know,” Natasha nodded. Ever since the incident on the hellicarriers, Fury had cracked down on Shield’s missions; he only sent agents out on them if absolutely necessary.

      “However,” Maria gave them a grim look. “This mission is strictly evasive, I can’t stress that enough. You go in, gather as much information as you can for as long as you can without being suspected, then you get out. Am I clear?”

      “Yes ma’am,” James nodded once.

      “Why are you giving me that look?” Natasha asked Hill, noticing the way she was raising her eyebrows in her direction.

      “Because you’ve been known to be…aggressive, shall we say,” Hill said, earning an amused look from James. “We need stealth on this one, okay?”

      "Understood," Natasha nodded once, her jaw locked.

"Alright," Maria continued. "Wayne Enterprises has its own gated community available should employees want to live nearby. We managed to snag you a house on the same block as most of the upper level IT guys, so you'll be in the thick of it."

"Good." Natasha and James spoke in unison, glancing back at each other quickly. 

"I trust you've memorized your cover stories?" Hill asked, both of them nodding in response. "Barnes, you're going in as a new hire in the department. Don't raise any eyebrows; just blend in."

"Not to be rude," Natasha cut in. "But how exactly does a metal arm 'blend in?'" 

"Did you get it?" Maria asked James now, leaving Natasha out of the loop. 

"Just came from the lab," he answered, nodding and rolling up his t-shirt sleeve. Around his silver shoulder sat black metallic strap about an inch wide. He reached up and pressed something on it she couldn't see. A low static hum came from it before a hologram appeared, camouflaging his arm in what looked like skin. 

Natasha had seen and used this kind of technology before, mostly to disguise her face, but seeing it on him was different. She stared at his arms separately then together, noting the symmetry, and took a step towards him. 

“May I?” She looked up at him through dark lashes to ask. He nodded silently, nervous to have her so near.

      She lifted his hand into her palm, feeling the smooth skin surface of it on her fingertips. Her slender fingers traced a line up his palm and to his wrist, her mind remembering all the times she’d held this very hand in hers.

 

      _“What does it feel like?” She’d whispered one night, after a particularly intimate session. His left arm was resting around her comfortably, and she’d found herself playing with his metallic fingers with her own._

_“It feels…like an arm,” He answered seriously, making her giggle in a way she wasn’t proud of. She looked up to see him smirking at her reaction before explaining. “I can feel things the way my other hand does, just…not as much. Not as real.”_

_“Did it hurt?” Her voice was quiet as she looked into his deep blue eyes. Here, in her arms, he let himself go, not worried about appearing tough all the time. She caught a flash of pain in his eyes as memories of his past dawned on him._

_“Yes,” He finally said, his voice gruff. “I don’t remember much about the beginning but pain,” He focused his attention on the way she held his left hand between both of hers, loving the way it felt._

_“I’m sorry,” She said, bringing his hand up to her lips. He fell asleep to her placing gentle kisses on his fingers, never more at peace._

 

      Staring down at the now flesh covered hand, Natasha missed the real thing. She missed the way he’d trace her jawline with his fingertips right before he kissed her. She missed the cool metal against her body, warming at her touch. She missed the way he held her down during moments of passion, forcing her to ride out wave after wave of pleasure. But most of all, she missed him.

      “It’s still as strong as before,” Once again, Maria’s voice snapped Natasha back down to Earth. She let go of his hand instantly, not noticing the way James’ face fell when she did. “Only now you’ll fit right in.”

      “Right,” Natasha nodded, clearing her throat. She suddenly felt uneasy, not certain she could go on with this mission the way she wanted to.

      “So here’s the plan,” Hill said, seeming not to notice either of their reactions. “Today we create your past. Fake wedding, fake vacations, fake holidays, etc. Your wardrobe changes are behind the curtains, along with hair and makeup. Nat, you’re on the left; Barnes, the right. Any questions?” Natasha avoided James’ stare and shook her head. Hill waited a moment before nodding and walking away. “Let’s get started.”

.

.

.

      Hours later, Natasha was exhausted and James was itchy.

      “You’ve gotta give me more than this,” Hill saying now, only getting a glare from the couple in return. “This isn’t working,” She decided.

      “You’re telling us,” Natasha slumped her shoulders, tired of standing in awkward poses. She rubbed her face, trying to soothe the ache in her cheeks left from fake smiling all day.

      “Take five,” Hill called out from her spot behind the photographers back. She’d appointed herself creative director and had been shouting out orders to Natasha and James nonstop. They’d already covered most major holidays, an anniversary or two, casual party pictures, and were now working on Christmas.

      James sat down on the luxurious single leather couch that had been brought in as a prop to go with whatever background the bright green screen was supposed to be.

His hair had been neatly trimmed by his stylist, now looking dangerously close to the way he wore it in the forties. He squirmed a bit, running a hand through his short hair and scratching at his ugly Christmas sweater yet again.

      Natasha would never admit it, but she was enjoying most of the outfits chosen for him. He came off as a nerdy but hip type of guy who didn’t know that stripes and polka dots clash. Even now, he wore thick black plastic glasses with no prescription and made them look good.

      “Like the reindeers?” James asked when he caught Natasha staring at him. She cleared her throat and tugged at her hair.

      “Yeah,” She answered, her voice hoarse. Despite posing together and smiling, they had yet to exchange even a sentence to each other. “They suit you.”

      “And that hat suits you,” He grinned, pointing at the big red Santa hat her wardrobe lady had made her put on. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him, meeting his blue eyes with her green. Their eyes locked for far too long and she felt a familiar flutter in her stomach. All these years later and he could still give her butterflies.

      “Okay, let’s try this,” Maria announced as inspiration struck her. Natasha was starting to wonder what would happen when Hill wasn’t around to interrupt their tension filled staring contests. “James, stay where you are. Nat, get on his lap. Don’t give me that look, just do it,” Maria predicted her reaction and Natasha groaned, yet started to obey. James swallowed in his already dry mouth and moved his arms aside as Natasha set herself down on his lap. “Okay now look like you guys actually like each other please? You’re supposed to be newlyweds!”

      With a heavy sigh, Natasha situated herself more comfortably, snuggling against James chest and leaning her head towards his chest. As nervous as he was, his body seemed to know how to react before he could think about it. He put an arm behind her, resting a hand on her side and setting his other down on her thigh.

      “Better,” Maria approved. “Now smile!” They did the best they could with the rising pressure they suddenly felt with being so close to each other. After what seemed like hundreds of snaps later, Hill dismissed them for their last shots of the day. Natasha hopped off of his lap as fast as she could, fighting off thoughts of how comfortable they seemed to fit together.

The last pictures of the day were the ones Natasha was least excited for. She’d had a false marriage once before so getting ready for the ‘big day’ was like a nasty feeling of déjà vu. Awhile later she stared at herself in the full-length mirror before her. Unlike most little girls, she’d never really dreamt of her wedding dress, so she wondered her real one would’ve look like this. The dress picked out for her was simple, not even considered a gown.

      It was pure white, flowing down to just above her knees in a way that was a bit girlier than she was used to. The top half was form fitting, hugging her torso in a sheer lace fabric up to her collarbones. The man doing her makeup had opted for a modest look, much to her liking, with dark lashes and liner that made her eyes pop.

Her short, straight hair had been pinned back and tucked under a wig of the same color. More like her natural hair, the wig had long red curls, half of which were pinned up in a simple style that she told herself to remember. In all honesty, though it was nothing she’d choose for herself, she liked the way she looked.

“You guys ready?” Maria’s voice echoed in the near empty room, making Natasha wonder how long she’d been staring at herself.

“Yes, ma’am,” James called out from behind his curtain, where unbeknownst to Natasha, he was a bundle of nerves.

He pulled at his hair, mussing up the neat gel his hairstylist had put in it. While James felt more like himself with the shorter style, he had to admit he missed being able to hide behind the long tresses. He felt more exposed than he already was.

“One last thing,” The woman who’d handed him the black slacks and white dress shirt he wore said to him now. She came closer to him and wrapped something around his neck, making him immediately tense up. “There. Ta da!” She exclaimed. He looked down and frowned at the dark green bow tie he now wore. 

      “Is this really necessary?” He tried not to complain, but felt like a child wearing this.

      “It matches her eyes,” The woman said, determined to keep it. “Now go!” She left no room to argue as she pushed him out the curtain wall.

      He stumbled out, feeling awkward as he stood with his hands in his pockets. There was only one cameraman, and a couple of people holding up lights, but James felt suddenly aware of how long it had been since he’d had any real human interaction. Any thoughts he had of backing out disappeared the moment he saw her.

      She stepped out from the side of her curtains with a solemn expression he couldn’t read. In an instant, he felt his heart beat faster and a rush of heat run to his cheeks. If his mouth dropped, he didn’t notice, too preoccupied with the way her eyes sparkled.

      Before he could control it, his mind flashed with bright images of her again. She was younger, standing on a balcony with an ocean behind her. He didn’t know where he was, but he could tell he was late, feeling a sense of urgency when he arrived.

      _“Natalia?” He’d spoken her name gently to make her turn around, her eyes lighting up when she saw him. She left her spot and ran to him, meeting him halfway where he picked her up and spun her in his arms; never feeling so happy before in his life._

_“You’re late,” She murmurs near his ear. He sets her down to look at her displeased expression, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ll pay for that,” Her eyes told of the punishment she had planned for him, yet he wasn’t afraid._

      “Okay, front and center, let’s do this,” James was growing weary of being interrupted by Agent Hill. Every time he was on the brink of remembering something about his past with Natasha, she spoke; halting his thoughts.

      Nevertheless, he followed her instructions, meeting Natasha in the middle of the green screen to take the final pictures. The closer she got, the more he stared, unable to tear his eyes away. She noticed, but chose not to acknowledge his eyes, fearing she’d lose control.

      “Okay face each other and hold hands,” Maria directed, and they obliged. “Smile,” She scolded until they both faced the camera with teeth showing. “Good good! Now put your arms around her. Yeah, yeah, just like that. Okay less teeth now. You got it!” Maria was sounding more and more like a photographer on America’s Next Top Model than a Shield Agent with each passing minute.

      Natasha was smiling, but focusing on trying to regulate her heartbeat. The last thing she wanted was for James to notice the effect he had on her. This mission was too important for her to let her past get in the way.

      “Great, James, great,” Hill was saying now. “Keep looking at her like that, it seems natural.”

Her words make Natasha glance up, and wonder how long James had been staring at her. It’s more than staring, though, it’s borderline smoldering. Before she can stop herself, she’s staring right back, searching his eyes for inkling of a clue as to what he was going on in his head. How much did he remember? And what difference did it make to him now?

“Okay, now let’s just get one quick kiss,” Hill makes the request, expecting an outcry of complaints from both, but gets none.

Instead, they linger for a moment, still staring at each other before leaning in. Neither of them knows who leaned first, but don’t care. Natasha’s whole body relaxes into the kiss, her hands moving to his chest then up around his neck. As soon as his mouth meets hers, James’ nerves disappear, his back stiffening as he deepens the kiss. Even the photographer stops taking pictures as it becomes increasingly clear this is a private moment.

      Natasha regains her senses first, remembering where they were and what the job is. She breaks free of his mouth, feeling herself flushed. He blinks his eyes open at her, still staring in a way that’s now driving her mad. With a huff, she turns and storms into her dressing room. She’s not sure who she’s angrier with, him for getting inside her head or herself for letting him.

      She yanks her wig off, freeing her hair in a mess around her as she fumes. Before she can think, she’s storming out of her station, stomping behind the green screen to pull James out of his quarters.

      “What the—,” He can’t even finish his sentence before she has his arm locked behind his back in a harsh grip.

      “What are you doing?!” She manages to yell in a whisper, knowing they’re not alone.

      “What?” He responds, matching her volume.

      “I said,” She emphasizes her words by forcing his arm in an even more uncomfortable position. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

      “I’m doing what I’m told,” His instincts finally kick in, his leg swinging out behind him to trip her. As she loses her balance, he reaches out to hold her by the arms tightly. “What are _you_ doing?”

      “Why did you agree to this mission?” She asks even though she’s lost the upper hand. “Why did you turn yourself in to Shield?”

      “To make up for what I’ve done,” He admits to her. “To…to start, at least.”

      “You remember me?” She asks, fearing the answer.

      “Yes,” He replies, and then decides to be honest. “And no.” He can tell she’s not satisfied with his answer, but it’s the best one he’s got. “I…I’m trying to make things right,” His voice is low, but something in his tone strikes a chord in her. He’s telling the truth.

      “Okay,” She shakes free of his hands when he loosens his hold on her.

      “Okay?” He repeats, confused.

      “Okay,” She leaves him baffled yet again.

     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please be nice.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than intended, but I'm pretty happy with the way it came out. I hope you are too :)

.

   
     The next morning Natasha rose bright and early, feeling more like herself. She'd slept well despite being plagued with thoughts of James. She felt foolish, still feeling a tingle on her lips from where he'd kissed her. And that was how she saw things: he had kissed her, and she let him.  It was a minor slip up in her mind; old habits dying hard and whatnot. She wouldn't make the same mistake again. Feeling her usual self-control, she decided to take her time getting ready.

      A change of clothes had been left for her, a tight, knee length skirt and frilly white blouse; something Natalie Rushman would deem appropriate for move in day. It didn’t seem sensible to wear black, four-inch pumps, but she never tried to argue with herself over her covers. She straightened her hair, the style seeming right for her new persona, not to mention she’d grown accustomed to running her fingers through the sleek strands.

     After she finished touching up her makeup, she sighed and left to meet in the lower garage. Although she was ten minutes earlier than the scheduled time, Natasha was last to arrive. Hill and Barnes were already discussing travel routes when she approached them.   
     "Look who decided to show up," James smiled at her in a way that was far too lax for her liking.   
     "What'd I miss?" She ignored him and asked Hill.  
     "Not much," Maria shrugged and moved to hold her tablet to her side. "I was just explaining that most of your things will be moved into the house by the time you get there. Your closets are full, the fridge is stocked, and these are your new IDs," she said, passing each of them a New York driver's licenses with all their false information. "And hare your cellphones," she said as she handed out a pair of iPhones.   
     "Seriously?" Natasha rolled her eyes when she saw that her phone was already in a fuzzy pink case.   
     "Shield is thorough," Maria smirked. "Barnes has the directions, and my number is programmed into your phones under 'Aunt Sally'. Call if you need anything. If not, I'll see you at our next briefing." 

     “Thanks,” Natasha exhaled slowly, her pre-mission nerves kicking in; it had been too long. 

     "See you soon, Aunt Sally," James gave a small wave, and stepped towards the driver's side of the small hybrid car Shield had assigned the Rushmans.  
     "What do you think you're doing?" Natasha put an arm out to stop him from opening the door.   
     "Leaving?" He raised his eyebrows at her, confused.   
     "Oh, no no," she shook her head. "You're not driving."  
     "What? Why not?"  
     "Because you're..." Natasha knew there was a good reason but it wouldn't come to her. "Too old. Senior citizens aren’t the best drivers."  
     "Ouch," he feigned hurt but gave her an unimpressed look. "And what of Russian drivers? How do I know you can drive without any snow around?"  
     "That's racist," Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. "And it doesn't even make sense. Give me the keys."  
     "I think Natalie Rushman would let her husband drive," he tried.   
     "Well, we can ask her when we get there," she held her palm out open to him and stared him down until he conceded.  
     "This isn't over," he muttered as he put the keys in her hand.   
     "Yeah yeah," she nodded and rolled her eyes. If she could just keep her distance, she could get through this mission.   
.  
.  
. 

      Hours later, they were almost at their destination. The city was long gone and all Natasha could see as she drove were trees. Nothing but trees and static as James tried to find yet another radio station. He seemed to be fascinated by how many there were and she hadn’t even told him about the AM stations yet. Instead, she’d been silent ever since they left the Shield garage.

     "You know," James spoke, his voice coming out rough after the prolonged silence. "This will probably go a lot smoother if we talk to each other at some point."

     "Talk about what?" Natasha gave him a displeased look.  
     "I don't know, anything? We won't fool anyone into thinking we're married if you keep acting like I don't exist."

"Actually I'm pretty sure that how most marriages go these days," she said, smirking to herself. The joke went over his head and she could feel his eyes boring into her, but refused to look back at him. She knew she'd drown in the blue ocean of his eyes if she looked too long.

"Alright, fine. Let's talk," she agreed. "Quiz me," he was still staring at her as she tossed her new license onto his lap. 

"Quiz you?" He repeated, breaking his gaze to look at her fake smiling picture. 

"Yeah," she nodded, glad she invented a game to distract them. "Ask about our supposed life together, I bet I remember more than you."

"And if I win?" His tone was lighter, and she didn't have to look over to tell he had that playful glint in his eyes.

"I'll let you drive the rest of the way," she offered, hoping he didn't know they were already less than half an hour away. "And if I win, you're not allowed to play anymore jazz stations," she nodded towards the radio. 

"Deal," he agreed immediately and cleared his throat. "Name?"

"Natalie no middle name Rushman," she recited. 

"Birth date?" 

"December 1st, 1986."

"That would make you...?"

"Twenty-eight years old," she nodded to herself, focused on her new identity. When he didn't ask for more information, she glanced over to see him lost in thought. He was still staring down at her ID, but his eyes had a far off look to them. "Barnes?" Her voice didn't seem to faze him. "James?" He blinked a few times, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes as he snapped out of it. "You alright?" 

"Yeah," he nodded, not sure himself why he'd gotten so distracted. He thought he was remembering something, but when he tried to focus, it slipped away. "So is that accurate?"

"Is what accurate?" Natasha asked, still wondering why he'd gone silent.

"The date," he turned to say to her. "Did you ever figure out how old you are?" It was a simple enough question, but it threw her for a loop. She hadn't thought about the Red Room in a long time, not letting herself get swept up in the memories. Yet here he was, dragging her back to that big, sweaty room where she and all the others had been forced to train day in and day out. On the surface, she was focused on the road, but internally, she was trying to remember what he was talking about. He wasn't the only one with mixed up and false memories. 

"Sorry," James said quietly when she hadn't spoken for a full three minutes. "I didn't mean to cross a line, I was just...curious."

"No," she shook her head and faked a nonchalant expression as if it made no difference to her. "I never did find out. When I came to work for Shield, they gave me a best estimate, but couldn't find any records of my birth." 

"Hmm," he said calmly. "And here I thought Shield knew everything about everyone."

"They don't," Natasha said seriously. They definitely didn't know everything about her. Sensing her starting to shut down, he tried a lighter subject.

"When did we get married?" He returned to their game.

"Last November," she answered. "The third."

"Right," James nodded and tried to think of a harder question. "What's my middle name?" 

"Alexander," she stifled a yawn, as she checked the time. They'd been driving all day and the sun was starting to lower. "A name I like, by the way."

"James Alexander Rushman," he said aloud. "Sounds kinda fake to me, but what do I know?"

"That's because you're not up to date on all the weird names popping up these days," she said, remembering hearing of a child called 'Apple.' 

"I suppose," he shrugged and repeated his name, waiting for it to sound natural to him. "James Alexander Rushman." 

"At least you got to keep your first name," she told him with a hint of envy. 

"Probably because Shield doesn't think I can remember anything else," he spoke down, looking self conscious to her. 

"Well would you prefer Bucky?" She tried to make him smile, and failed; only managing to make his expression grim.

"Sorry, I...I was just kidding."

"I know, it's just...that name reminds me of..." he looked out his window sullenly, not sure he wanted to divulge the information. He felt at ease around Natasha, but he knew she didn't return that feeling. 

"Your old life?" She guessed at the ending of his sentence. 

"Yeah," he sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. "The memories I have of being Bucky...they all involve Steve."

"He was your best friend," Natasha told him what he already knew. His mind had been giving him bits and pieces of his past, but anytime he thought of his skinny little buddy from Brooklyn, his heart broke. 

"When I think about how upset he looked when I didn't even recognize him…” He trailed off again, his saddened state provoking something in Natasha. She wanted to reach out and touch him, make him feel less alone in all this, but couldn’t get herself to do it.

"Have you spoken to him?" She cleared her throat to ask, not sure if Steve even knew about Bucky's return.

"No. I told your agents I wouldn't cooperate if he was brought in."

"Why not?" Steve had been a good friend to her recently; she hated keeping him in the dark about James, but knew it wasn't her place to say anything.

"I don't remember him," James' tortured voice told her it wasn't a decision he'd made lightly. "Not the way he wants me to remember him. And every time I try to, my head feels like it's going to explode."

"I get that," Natasha sighed, knowing how frustrating it was to have no control over what you had memories of. "What exactly…do you remember?" She tread cautiously. 

"About you?" 

She could feel his eyes on her now as she gave him a single nod. 

"I remember that I cared about you," he told her, his voice as gentle as she remembered it being in those late night conversations. "More than anything. And that I always felt indebted to you."

“You don't owe me anything,” She said firmly, her fingers starting to grip the steering wheel harder.

"Maybe I do," his eyes were searching her expression for any hint of emotion, but she hid it from him, staring blankly ahead.

"You don't," the edge in her tone made him smirk. He hadn't intended to anger her, but for some reason, he was enjoying it.

"You're gonna have to lie a lot better than that, Mrs. Rushman," he leaned his head back in his seat and smiled to himself.

"What?" She spat out the question, and looked towards him, eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm just saying," he shrugged boyishly, his smirk making her grit her teeth. "There's no way anyone's gonna buy that we're in love when you glare at me like that."

"Are you suggesting that I don't know how to go undercover?" She was genuinely offended.

"I'm suggesting that you can't hide your hatred for me," he was still smiling, but she reigned in her displeased expression.

"I don't hate you," she sighed.

"You don't?"

"No," she was being honest. "I just...I don't want anyone at Shield to know about our past.

"Our past?" He repeated, not sure what she meant by that. He remembered loving her, being intimate and keeping it a secret, but it didn't seem like Shield forced her to hide anything these days.

“Right. It would just complicate things for me, can you understand that?” He nodded slowly, willing to do anything to take away her worried eyes.

“I'm not trying to disrupt your life.”

“What _are_ you trying to do?” She asked as politely as she could manage.

“I told you, I'm trying to make up for what I've done. I'm trying to do the right thing,” James said in a flurry of words.

“You sound like Steve,” She noticed the similarity much to his disdain.

“The things I remember, Natalia…” He shook his head and tried to fight the pained expression he could feel forming. “The people I hurt…”

“I know,” She nodded, wishing she could explain just how well she understood, but she knew she couldn’t. Natasha had never been good at expressing herself with words, but with James it always seemed harder. Actions were the way they showed each other how they felt.

“What are you doing?” James asked, looking up at her when she pulled their car over to a stop.

“Get out,” She ordered him to do what she was halfway done with. Once outside in the fresh air, she stretched her arms out in front of her, feeling locked.

“Don’t tell me we’re here,” He joked, looking around the empty highway.

“Here,” Natasha held the car keys out in her palm just as he walked over to the driver’s side.

“Seriously?” His face lit up more than she’d ever remembered it doing. “But I didn’t win the game.”

“I know,” She shrugged while he stared at her skeptically, waiting for her to say she was just kidding. “Unless you don’t want to…?”

“No!” He protested immediately, grabbing the keys as if they were the last bit of food on Earth.

“Just don’t get pulled over,” She warned him as she got in on the other side.

“I won’t, I won’t,” He was grinning like a child now, adjusting his seat and mirrors to fit his size. It had been ages since he’d driven, the last time being a joy ride in the forties he couldn’t quite remember.

Natasha watched him fervently, forcing herself not to laugh. She couldn’t help it, he looked the perfect mix of adorable and ridiculous. He didn’t stop beaming for the entire ride although it was short. The sad thing was, he really did drive like an old person; below the speed limit with an uneven pace and slight swerve every now and then.

“This is it,” Natasha managed to keep her smiling to a minimum when they arrived at their destination. “On your left.”

“Pretty remote, don’t you think?” James noted as they arrived at the gated entrance of their new community.

“Not really,” She replied as he drove up to the small guard station manned by a middle-aged man in a white uniform. “I took back roads, this place is only ten minutes away from the sixth largest mall in America.”

“Hmm,” James didn’t know what to do with this information.

“Glasses,” Natasha interrupted his train of thought to hand him the nonprescription black plastic glasses that were basically his identity.

“Right,” He put them on and rolled down his window to talk to the guard. “Hi, there,” Natasha noticed his tone shift to a friendlier one. “My name is James Rushman, I’m a new software developer for Wayne enterprises.”

“Ah, right,” The guard nodded and typed something into the computer in front of him. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“My wife and I were told our new home would be ready by today?” James said now, Natasha strangely liking the way he said ‘my wife’.

“Yes, of course,” The man said, giving James two sets of keys and explaining what they were for. Natasha’s eyes lingered on the intense gating system in front of them. She wondered if the heavy iron gate was meant to keep people out or in.

“Thanks for everything,” James was saying now, waving to the guard as the metal doorway cranked open.

“You have a nice day,” The guard waved them off with a smile.

“He seemed chipper,” Natasha frowned as they entered.

“Just a nice guy,” James shrugged, not bothered by polite demeanor; it was something he didn’t realize he missed. “People nowadays are a bit rude, aren’t they?”

“I wouldn’t say rude…” She tried to defend her generation. “Busy, maybe.”     

     “Well, I appreciate manners,” James said, but she’d stopped listening.

    Once inside, Natasha couldn't help but gape, it was as if she'd entered a vortex into suburban heaven. Each house they passed was two stories of architectural harmony, all with perfectly color coded paint jobs. All the lawns they saw were mowed into neat squares of luscious green. James whistled that same impressed sound while Natasha wondered if the children frolicking in front of one house they passed were practicing for some kind of commercial.   
     "Tell me about it," she muttered in response to his whistle. No matter how much money Natasha acquired, she never cared much for extravagant surroundings like this.   
     "I used to dream about living in a place like this when I was a kid," James divulged as they turned onto another street.   
     "Yeah?" Natasha found that peculiar. When she was a child, she'd dreamt of living to see the next day.   
     "Yeah," he nodded. "But now that I'm here...I'd take Brooklyn any day."  
     "Kind of creepy, isn't it?" She smirked to herself.   
     "Like being in a toy store aisle where all the doll houses are," James surmised as he slowed the car to a house with a moving truck in front of it. "This is us," he said, pointing to a beige two-story house with a second floor balcony.   
     "Not bad," Natasha noted as the moving truck drove away. "Looks like we're just in time."  
     "Yep," James sighed as he pulled the car into their new driveway and parked.   
     "Natalia—"  
     "Look—"   
     They both spoke at the same time, feeling the need to set things straight before their mission really began.   
     "Ladies first," he bowed his head a bit.  
     "I was just gonna say," Natasha silently hoped he had gone first. "The past is...difficult. Some parts come back. Some don't. So let's not think about it," she recommended her own tactic.   
     "Okay," he nodded slowly. He'd been about to say that he would do whatever she needed to be comfortable.   
     "Let's just focus on the mission," she said, confident in her methods yet unable to look up from her lap.  
     "Alright," James agreed. "Ready for this?"   
     "I'm gonna pretend you didn't ask that," Natasha fought a smile as she opened her door. Not surprisingly, she heard birds singing nearby, and she forced herself not to roll her eyes.  She eyed the perimeter on her walk over to the driver's side, James doing the same as he shut his door.  
     "You see what I see?" He asked, looking down as Natasha leaned into his chest.   
     "We have an audience," she agreed. "I count three."  
     "The woman pretending to water her flowers," he nodded.  
     "The blonde failing miserably to hide behind her living room curtains," she raised her eyebrows; shield had been right about these people not being professionals.  
     "And the brunette on the balcony," James finished the surveil of their new block as he wrapped his arms around Natasha's waist lightly. Although he was aware this was purely for the mission, he couldn't deny it felt good having her this close to him.   
     "Not too subtle," she spoke quietly, her lips curling into a fake smile.   
     "Whelp," James exhaled and gave her a playful look. "They want a show, let's give 'em one."  
     Natasha let out an uncharacteristic squeal as James lifted her up in one swift motion. She played along, giggling like a newlywed would and put her arms around his neck. He opened the front door while Natasha clocked the reactions of her nosy neighbors, glad to see them buying their routine.   
     "Unlocked," James said of the door as he carried her over the threshold.   
     "Figures," Natasha dropped her smile the moment they were out of sight. James set her down gently, and closed the door behind them.   
     "It's a shame most of our suspects seem to have families," he peered out the nearest window to confirm all the eyes on them had retreated to their homes.   
     "Yeah," Natasha agreed. "The only question is which stepford family is working for hydra."  
.  
.  
.  
     They spent the rest of the day exploring their new house separately. James had wandered off on his own when Natasha had ascended upstairs without a word and without him. He decided not to overcrowd her and checked out the living room.   
     It was a wide-open room probably bigger than the house he grew up in. The couches looked comfortable, but like the kind no one actually sat in, while the art and odd decorations around reminded him of a museum. Up on the mantle above the fireplace were all the pictures they'd posed for yesterday.  With whatever technology Shield had, they'd managed to make them look like they truly had a life together.   
     Photos of fake vacations and phony families surrounded the biggest frame in the center; one of their wedding day. James took the photo in his hand, tracing the lines of Natasha's face lightly. She'd been smiling up at him lovingly; almost convincing him they were in love. A sudden flash of pain seared his head and James shut his eyes

When he closed his eyes, he saw her om that balcony again. She was standing in another white dress, this one longer; it’s thin fabric flowing down to her ankles. Her hair was longer than it was now, blowing wildly around her face in fiery spirals. She turned her head, hearing him arrive and spoke.

 

_“Finally,” Her voice echoed in his ears. “You’re late.”_

 

When he blinked his eyes open, James was back in the Rushman’s living room, staring at the wedding picture. He looked around him to make sure he was still alone; he couldn’t begin to explain these memories to himself, let alone Natasha.

Luckily, she was occupying herself elsewhere. James did his best to avoid her until nightfall, when he passed what he knew to be the master bedroom. Natasha was inside, pulling the covers back on the bed.

Time had gotten away from James, but now that he thought about it, he was exhausted. He came in silently, opening a nearby bureau to fetch more comfortable pillows. He tucked one under his arm and turned to leave.

    "Where are you going?" Natasha asked when she saw him heading towards the doorway.   
     "To bed..." He said innocently, as if his intentions were obvious.  
     "Where?" She furrowed her brows to ask.  
     "One of the spare rooms," He shrugged, not sure which one he was headed to himself. Most of the rooms looked like false attempts at comfort, with stiff blankets and pillows only meant for decoration.  
     "Don't be ridiculous," she shook her head at him. "You'll sleep here," she gestured to the king sized bed in front of her. He looked from her to the empty bed back to her again until she sighed.

    "Yes, I'm sure," she read his mind to answer.He nodded once, knowing better by know than to argue with her. Instead, he plopped his pillow down and looked around the room. “Your clothes are in that dresser and the left side of the closet,” Natasha told him as she pointed to the locations without looking up at him.

“Thanks,” He said, going to pull out clothes for him to sleep in. The next sound he heard was the bathroom door shutting behind Natasha as she left. “Good talk,” He spoke to himself.

As soon as she was alone, Natasha sighed. She’d been busying herself all afternoon with boring mission reports she was months behind on. Paperwork had never been her forte, but it was always a decent distraction when she needed it. Whether she was angry about a failed mission, fighting with Clint, or avoiding her new mission partner and old flame, Shield documents could always draw her mind into boring but occupying thoughts.

Now that he was here, though, and soon to be in her bed, she couldn’t avoid him. Natasha took as long a shower as she could, the hot water only reminding her of a summer rain she once enjoyed.

 

_“You shouldn’t be here,” James had told her when she followed him out of the compound, onto the roof._

_“So tell me to leave,” She dared him, trusting that he wouldn’t, for the same reasons she couldn’t get herself to go. They’d been fighting their attraction to each other for months and it was getting harder for both of them to put up a fight. When he said nothing, she came closer; standing the closest to him she ever had without attacking. His dark eyes were conflicted; waging a war behind the intense stare he was giving her._

_“What am I going to do with you, Natalia?” He asked the question he’d asked many times before, this time sounding wearier than ever._

_She tiptoed up as close to his height as she could get and pecked his lips lightly with hers. This was her answer. The battle in his mind was over the second their mouths met; she’d won, and she would always win. He slid his hands around her waist roughly, crushing her body to his in a long awaited moment._

_He could feel her lips curl into a smile as he continued kissing her; her taste was everything he’d imagined and more. She’d just lifted her hands up to his wildly messy hair, tangling her fingers in it when she felt a drop on her cheek. She broke their kiss to look up at the gray sky, James doing the same._

_It was humid and muggy outside yet rain starting pouring around them, drenching the roof and their bodies. After a few seconds of gazing at the clouds, Natasha could feel his stare on her again, looking back to find him lost on her. The sight of his swollen lips and wet tendrils of hair falling around his face would never leave her mind._

It was their first kiss many years ago, yet she could still feel his lips on hers and the rain on her cheeks. Natasha turned off the water that had turned cold on her, and got ready for bed. She wore pajama shorts and a tank top, letting her hair dry itself in its usual messy curls. She breathed in deeply and told herself it was no big deal. They’d shared a bed before, and all that would happen was sleep.

When she’d convinced herself she’d be fine, Natasha left the bathroom and found James sitting on the bed. He’d changed into sweatpants, but was still shirtless, stretching around his arm awkwardly.

“What are you doing?” Natasha asked, feeling her face contort into a confused expression.

“Oh,” James sat up straight, his cheeks flushing like he’d been caught. “Uh…I was…,” He swallowed hard, looking more like Bucky Barnes than Natasha had ever seen as he stammered for words. “It’s this stupid strap,” He sighed and slumped his shoulders.

Natasha looked at the think black material that was keeping up the appearance of human flesh on his left arm. It had somehow caught a thread on his true metal arm and was stuck.

“Come here,” Natasha rolled her eyes and shook her head, trying not to laugh. James scoot himself over to her side of the bed and turned his back to her so she could get a look.

“This isn’t funny,” He pouted, noticing her grin.

“Of course not,” She told him as she inspected the damage.

“I could’ve just yanked it off, but I don’t know if that’d break it or something,” James explained himself as she pulled the strap free and turned it off. His metallic arm was visible now as he slid the strap down off himself. “Thank you,” He spoke sincerely, giving Natasha a genuine look.

     All she could do was stare back at him, and realize how close they were now. His skin was radiating heat she could almost feel, and it suddenly dawned on her than he was topless. That wasn’t the problem, though. She couldn’t stop staring into his eyes, lingering on that blue that had lured her in in the first place.

     “Sleep,” She managed to get a word out, and he furrowed his brows at her. “We should get some sleep,” She clarified and he nodded, clearing his throat and retreating back to his side.

     “I took a few more pillows out, if you want,” James put a tee shirt on and told her while she sat down on the bed.

     “Thanks,” She mumbled and turned her lamp off, turning her back to him as she slid under the covers. A moment later he did the same, tucking himself in as far away from her as he could manage. He waited till he was sure she was asleep to let himself drift off, letting the sound of her steady breathing be his lullaby.

     “Goodnight, Natalia,” He whispered to her before he fell asleep.

.

.

.  
     The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that he couldn't move. He was strapped down on some kind of table, bright lights blinding him to his surrounding. Everything hurt at first, then the pain really set in as he realized he couldn't feel his left arm. He looked down to his left, his ears picking up pieces of conversation he couldn't understand. Where the hell was he?   
     A short man with glasses appears in front of him, leaning over and saying something to him in a language he guessed was Russian. Realization sank in as he remembered where he last was. The train. Steve. Had they escaped?

    “Where’s Steve?” His voice was groggy as he tried to look around. All he could see were men in lab coats scrambling around him with no sign of his friend. “Steve?” He tried again, determined to find his friend.

The man with the glasses appeared again, saying something in Russian again before backing away. Suddenly he could feel something at his left arm again as the sound of a machine whirring filled the room. Excruciating pain consumed him as they carried on as if he wasn’t there.    
     "No, stop!" He yelled as they continued whatever they were doing. “Stop, please!” Were the last formed words he could manage before he just screamed as loud as he could, passing out before the agony ended.

 

.

 

    He woke up abruptly, still feeling all those hands and arms pinning him down roughly.  
     "James! James, stop!" Natasha's voice was loud, but he could barely hear her over his pounding migraine. Once he realized the only hands on him were hers, he stopped struggling. Under her palms, his shoulders still shook as his chest heaved up and down.   
     "Natasha?" He questioned, needing confirmation. He knew he wasn't on that lab table anymore, but he didn't know where he was; all he knew was that if it was really Natasha with him, he was safe.   
     "Yeah, yeah, it's me!" She flipped her bedside lamp on in a rush before gripping his face between her hands gently but firmly. "Its me. You're okay, I'm here, its okay." She told him, not sure it would help, but glad it did. He nodded slowly, his eyes still frantic. "It was just a dream," His breathing evened out as her voice soothed him.  
     "I was—I was on this table," he said in breathy sentences. She let her hold on him go, but he stopped her, keeping one of her hands in his. "I—I tried to run but they—they caught me and the pain...my god the pain," he winced, his memories suddenly vivid.   
     "Shh, it's okay," she told him as calmly as she could. "It was just a dream," she reassured him of something she wish someone had been there to reassure her of all her sleepless nights.   
     "I've never...how did they?" He shook his head, racking his brain for answers. "Why can't I...?"  
     "James," Natasha squeezed his hand with hers gently to get his attention. "James, look at me," she waited till his wide blue eyes were centered on her. "It was a nightmare. Even if it was a memory, it's over. You're not trapped anymore, remember?" She nodded, willing him to come to his senses. "You're okay now. It's over."  
     "It's over," he repeated back to her, his expression shifting from hysterical bewilderment to fatigued melancholy in an instant.   
     "Yeah," she nodded, feeling herself calm down as well. "Just breathe," she told him, pulling him slightly to lean on her chest. "You're okay," she repeated again as she ran her fingers through his short hair.  
     "It's over," she heard him say mechanically as his body weighed down on hers, his arms wrapped around her torso.   
     "It was just a dream," Disturbing nightmares were nothing new to Natasha, so she continued doing all she could think of; comforting James in the ways he didn't know he'd once comforted her. "You're alright...you're okay...it was just a dream," She whispered and kept combing his hair back, knowing she'd do this for as long as he needed. "It's okay now...I'm right here...it was just a dream."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you choose to comment, please be kind. If not, I understand. Have a nice day :)


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty excited that a few people seem to like my story :))

     Natasha awoke to the sound of metal clanging loudly near her somewhere. She blinked her eyes open lazily, feeling a drug induced haze she'd recognize anywhere. The weight of her eyelids seemed overwhelming in addition to holding her head up to look for the source of the sound. Looking around, she found herself in her handler's all too familiar office. Mindless enforcers hovered nearby while Ivan himself sat in a chair in front of hers. With more awareness, she glared at him, unhappy to have her wrists and ankles restrained in her seat. 

      "You're awake," Ivan spoke to her in Russian despite making her respond in English at all times. "Good." Natasha's head was throbbing in pain as beads of sweat fell down her forehead. In an instant, she remembered why she was here: James. 

      "Now…where were we?" Ivan asked himself the question. "Who are you?"

"Natalia Romanova," Her voice came out in a husky growl. How long had she been here?

"What are you?"

"A weapon," she knew the answers he wanted, and knew the faster she gave them to him, the faster she'd get out of here. "To be used to protect my country."

"Good, my little widow, good," he nodded condescendingly and spoke to her the way she hated; like a pet. "Who is James?" 

The mention of his name made her head explode with pain, sharp and blinding. Flashes of James' cheeky smirk ran across her mind, the image of his brooding blue eyes peering up at her behind his messy brunette locks. James was her reason for living. He gave her hope that someday she could live her own life of her own accord. This was her answer, but she knew better than to voice it. 

"James...," she spoke at last. "He trained me." She was stalling for time, knowing he wouldn't believe she'd forgotten him completely. How could she forget the countless nights he'd snuck into her room? All the nights he'd held her naked in his arms, and made her feel more alive than ever before. "He...he loved me." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"No," Ivan said curtly. "No. He didn't. He left you." He left me? She repeated mentally, trying desperately to remember. 

"He wouldn't," she whispered, straining her mind to recall. They'd spent many nights talking about escaping, but together. Always together. He wouldn't leave her here alone with them. 

"Yes!" Ivan leaned forward in his chair to yell at her. "He did. He escaped. Without you."

Escaped? Natasha suddenly remembered the last time she'd seen James. The balcony in Greece. They'd had a mission there and managed to plan one of their meetings in a hotel afterwards. She'd gotten there first, donning the white summer dress her cover had required. She remembered looking out at the ocean, admiring it's clear blue waters, and hoping that when she and James finally made it out of the Red Room they found someplace like this to live. Then she'd heard footsteps behind her...

Natasha's headache sharpened again as her mind shut down the memory. Familiar with this feeling, she blinked a few times, involuntary tears stinging her tired eyes. It had to have been James, no one else knew where she was. 

"Natalia, he's gone," Ivan's tone shifted into one she recognized as artificial empathy. "He left you."

"No," she shook her head slowly. "He didn't. He met me...in Greece."

"Natalia," he shook his head at her after giving a long sigh. He looked up at someone standing behind her and nodded. "Again." Before she could react, hands were near her, plunging a syringe into her arm. 

"No, wait!" Natasha tried. She'd say anything they wanted to stop them from taking anymore of her memories. "Stop! I—I'll say any…anything...please...don't..." she fought for as long as she could before their medicines kicked in and pulled her under.   
.

.

      Natasha awoke abruptly again, knowing this time she was truly awake. She was shaking and felt cold down to her core, the thick comforter covering her suddenly not warm at all. A onceover of the room reminded her that she was in her and her fake husband’s fake master bedroom in their fake house. Fake was something she was used to; being whomever or whatever she needed to be to get the job done.

      In her dreams, though, there was only the harsh reality that there was so much that her mind wouldn’t let her remember; so much that they took from her. She’d unlocked a memory in her sleep, a habit she thought she’d grown out of. She remembered being told that James was gone, but not the session with her handler. She shuddered to think of how many of those infamous sessions she didn’t remember.

      Natasha rubbed her head and tried to shake off the nightmare when she realized she was alone. In a swift motion she glanced down at the empty space next to her where James should have been laying. Caught up in her own dream, she recalled trying to comfort him last night, not knowing what the entire interaction meant for their unstable partnership.

      She was still exhausted, but dragged herself out of bed to get ready. She lingered in the bathroom as long as possible, wondering what James would say or if he’d say anything at all. Instead of going over her dream, dissecting it and what it meant, Natasha did something she rarely did; spent over ten minutes deciding what to wear.

      Natalie Rushman’s wardrobe was glamorous meets housewife. Her closet was filled to the brim with clothes found only in high end department stores, and seemingly unlimited stylish yet sensible heels. Ultimately she decided on a pair of snug fitting dark blue jeans and a white scoop neck shirt; it was the closest thing to feeling like herself she could find.

      Sighing to herself, she made her way downstairs, the smell of bacon immediately filling her nose. She found James sitting in the kitchen with a couple of steaming pans going behind him while he read a book. Natasha’s culinary skills were limited, but she knew enough to know the savory smell was turning to that of burnt meat quickly.

      “Barnes!” She had to shout to pull him out of the trance the book he was reading had him in. He was startled to see her, and even more shocked to see what she was rushing towards. Behind him, the bacon that had been sizzling a moment ago was almost completely blackened; smoke clouding the air around them. Natasha shut the stove burners off first then used the nearest washcloth to pick up the searing hot pan and drop it into the sink.

      “I—I’m sorry I…” James was still reeling from the sudden change of events that he didn’t know what to say. “I was just…I was trying to make you breakfast.”

      Natasha looked from his innocent face to the black bacon still smoldering in the kitchen sink, not sure what to say. Thank you? For almost burning the house down? She opted for silence and went to inspect the rest of the damage. In the remaining pan, he had been attempting to make eggs; what kind, she wasn’t sure of. The yolk was runny while the edges of the eggs were burnt. He had managed to undercook and burn the eggs at the same time.

      “You need to be careful,” She finally said, not knowing he’d been holding his breath waiting for her reply. “If you don’t know how to do something, just ask. Its better than blowing our cover with a house fire.”

      “I’m not a child,” He responded defensively, he hated being scolded. “I can take care of myself.”

      “Yeah, and that’s what I’ll tell the firefighters when they’re done putting out the house,” She rolled her eyes then sighed. She hadn’t meant to sound so patronizing, realizing her mistake. If anyone knew how annoying it was to be talked down to, it was her. “Look, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant…I know there are some things you’re not used to doing. I can help, but you have to ask.”

      “I was trying to surprise you,” His sad blue eyes could’ve drowned her in guilt. This wasn’t what she’d imagined walking into.

      “I know,” She nodded and gave him a small smile. “And I really appreciate that.” He rolled his eyes at the ground; his shoulders still slumped. “Seriously,” She put a hand on his shoulder to convince him. “I can’t remember the last time someone made me breakfast.”

      “Or…tried to,” James cracked a smile and let her know all was forgiven. It amazed her the way he could still pull off that boyish charm with one smirk.

      “Why don’t you let me get this meal?” She offered and he nodded, sitting down on one of the stools around the dining countertop. He heard her shuffling around him, but had already resumed his spot in the book he’d been engrossed in. “Whatcha reading?” Natasha asked while pouring two bowls of cheerios.

      “There’s a library,” James told her excitedly. “Did you see it? It’s upstairs to the left.”

      “Yeah, I passed it,” She nodded, recalling the sight of bookshelf after bookshelf, all fully supplied.

      “The books aren’t in any order that I can tell,” He continued, shutting his small novel when she placed a bowl of cereal in front of him. “But I found this one, it’s called ‘The Diary of Anne Frank.’ It’s about this young Jewish girl whose family has to hide from the Nazis in an attic during World War II, what’s so funny?”

      “Hmm?” Natasha simulated confusion, and fought the grin tugging at her lips. “Nothing.” He gave her a disbelieving look as she sat down to join him with her own bowl. She shoveled a spoonful of cereal into her mouth to prolong her answer, but he waited. “It’s just…that’s a really popular book is all.”

      “Oh,” James’ face fell and Natasha immediately felt awful for finding his enthusiasm amusing.

      “No, it’s good!” She tried to fix yet another faux pas. “It’s good that you’re getting acquainted with popular literature.” She swallowed while he chewed his food, he himself finding her squirming cute. He liked having her out of her element.

      “It’s odd, isn’t it?” He asked as the thought occurred to him. “For someone’s diary to be made into a book?”

      “Yeah, I guess,” She shrugged, trying to chew with her mouth closed. “Do you like it?”

      “Yes, very much,” He smiled eagerly again. “It’s strange to read about the war through someone else’s eyes,” He looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes going blank although he was looking right at her.

      “I’ve heard good things about it,” Was all she could think to say. It brought him back to her, and he blinked a few times before furrowing his brows at her.

      “You mean you’ve never read it?”

      “Nope.”

      “I thought you said it was popular?”

      “It is.”

      “But not popular enough for you to read it?” He seemed entertained by her conflicting words.

      “Hey, when I defected I had _a lot_ of things to catch up on,” She defended her actions. “ _A lot!_ ”

      “Is that what you call it?” His question puzzled her momentarily. “‘Defecting?’” She comprehended what he was asking about, but stayed quiet. She had wondered when this would come up.

      “What would you call it?” She posed, and this time he was silent. He hadn’t meant to make her feel uncomfortable, he was genuinely curious about her story. Whether he remembered or not, he didn’t know how she’d gone from being under Russia’s control to now being an American agent. Obviously it wasn’t something she cared to talk about.

      “I’m sorry about the bacon,” He said sincerely, making her chuckle.

“It’s okay,” She shook her head. “You should’ve seen Steve the first time he tried to use a coffee machine. He almost set fire to a Shield lounge, it was…” Natasha trailed off when she saw the deadpanned look on James’ face. “Sorry, I…I didn’t mean to bring him up again.”

“No, it’s fine,” He shrugged it off. “You two are friends. You should be allowed to talk about your friends openly.”

“Still,” She swallowed hard, and stared down at her empty bowl. Between things he didn’t want to talk about and subjects she preferred to avoid, their conversation topics were growing more limited day by day.

“You’re a good friend to have,” James said softly. “Or so I’m learning.” He avoided her emerald eye contact for his next statement. He hadn’t planned on having so much to apologize for so soon. “I umm…I’m also sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to…I know you don’t...”

“It’s okay,” Natasha stopped him from having to come up with his next words.

“It’s not,” He shook his head, always first to blame himself for his shortcomings.

“James,” The sound of his name on her lips made him look up. “It’s okay,” She stared at him long and hard, trying to get him to believe her. “I get them too.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself from overthinking it. James gazed at her the way someone would a piece in a museum, analyzing her expression and trying to memorize everything he could. She looked back at him with a gentle smile that triggered something deep within him. He remembered that smile from when she was a child; she’d give it to him tentatively seeking his approval before breaking into a toothy grin. His images of the pint-sized fireball beaming up at him were interrupted by the sound of a doorbell. Their doorbell.           

The sound made James tense up and stand instantly, while Natasha remained seated but had withdrawn a knife from the rack in front of her. It was an unusual reaction to a possible visitor, and it took both of them a moment to realize they weren’t in a warzone.

“Shield?” James asked in a hushed tone.

“No,” Natasha shook her head and stood up slowly. “It’s too soon.” The doorbell rang again followed by three short knocks and a high pitched voice.

“Yoo hoo!” The female tone spoke loud enough for them to hear. “Anybody home?”

“Get it,” Natasha whispered to James.

“You get it,” He shook his head, making her narrow her eyes in at him. “Both of us?” He offered and she nodded, the two of them rushing to meet at their closed front door.

“Ready?” She asked him, her hand on the doorknob. On his nod she opened the door widely, revealing a short man and a tall woman smiling at them excitedly.

“Hi there!” The woman’s face lit up into a beam as she flipped her platinum blonde hair back. “Blaire Benson, real estate,” She said, extending her right hand for James to shake first while handing Natasha a business card. “This is my husband Frederick,” She gestured to the slim man beside her who gave them a slight smile before looking away.

“Hi,” Natasha figured taking the lead would match the vibe she was getting from the couple. “I’m Natalie. Natalie Rushman,” Her fake smile was flawless as she leaned into James’ side slightly. “This is my husband James.”

“Oh, what a lovely couple you two make!” Blaire gushed over them and Natasha feigned flattery. “We live right across the street from you,” She spoke while pointing to a light blue house directly in front of theirs. “And thought we’d stop by to introduce ourselves.”

“How sweet,” Natasha smiled and made a note of the not so subtle way Blaire seemed to be sizing her up. “Isn’t that sweet, James?”

“Very sweet,” James confirmed, with his own fake smile and nod.

      “So if you ever need anything, you know where we are,” Blaire spoke again, making James glance down at her husband and wonder if he was mute.

      “Same to you,” Natasha extended her friendship, hoping it’d come in handy later.

      “We also wanted to invite you to a little get together we’re having tonight. Nothing fancy, just a barbecue we have every month or so with friends. We’d love to have you.”

      “And we’d love to be there,” Natasha accepted the invitation immediately, surprised at how easy this woman was making it to infiltrate.

      “Excellent,” Blaire clapped her hands together in delight. “Party starts around 4 o’clock so we’ll see you soon.”

      “Great to meet you,” James offered one last greeting before the couple waved themselves off and away. They watched them leave for a minute before retreating inside and closing the door behind them. They both leaned their backs against the shut door and stared ahead silently.

“That was weird, wasn’t it?” James spoke first.

“Yeah,” Natasha replied. “A little, but I guess that’s suburbia for you. I’m just surprised they didn’t have a muffin basket.”

“She seemed kinda pushy,” James concluded.

“That’s putting it lightly,” She said, handing him the business card their neighbor had given her.

“Real estate,” James read the card then held it back up. “If she sells houses, why is her face on the card?”

“Vanity,” Natasha shrugged then shook her head as she watched James try to mimic the toothy grin plastered on the business card.

      As it turns out, the Bensons weren’t the only visitors they received for the day. By mid afternoon, the tally was up to fifteen neighbors who stopped by to give their own version of a welcome to the community introduction. By the time all their guests had stopped coming, the Rushmans had three muffin baskets, four batches of cookies, and a tuna casserole.

      When it came time to leave for the barbecue, James was ready first. He waited in the kitchen, picking at one of the muffin baskets and reading his book.

“Alright," Natasha was all business when she came downstairs. It took James a moment to focus, too busy gawking at her latest look; a floral sleeveless dress that stopped just above her knees. She looked so different than all the times he'd seen her before, softer and more domestic. She really was good at undercover. "I've narrowed down our suspects," she was saying now, placing a few manila folders in front of where we sat in the kitchen. 

"Already?" James questioned although he had no doubt in her abilities. "We've only just met them."

"I'm good at sizing people up," she put mildly. He couldn’t explain how he knew it, but he was sure Natasha’s instincts were always on point. 

"So who've we got?" He asked and she opened the first of the folders. The first picture he saw was of the tallest man he'd met today who was still a full head short than himself. "The allergy guy?" He could feel his face contort into bewilderment.

"Yeah, the allergy guy," she agreed seriously. 

"That guy couldn't hurt a fly," James told her as he skimmed over the information shield had on her first suspect. 

"Don't be so quick to judge."

"I'm not," he shook his head. "I mean literally, I don't think he could swat a fly if his life depended on it. He'd be too busy sneezing," he laughed to himself, recalling the sniffling red nose of the man who'd visited them earlier.

"Cut it out," Natasha told him but still smirked. "He's the information security analyst for Wayne Enterprises," she continued. "He's got the easiest access to the kind of info hydra would need to syphon funds."

"If you say so," James wasn't convinced, but knew better than to question Natasha's tactics. "And his wife? You think she's in on it?"

"Hard to say," she said as he looked over a picture of a brunette woman smiling sweetly into the camera. James remembered her being his favorite of all their visitors, seeming genuinely kind and welcoming. "No kids, which isn't a good sign."

"How so?"

"Kids are like incentive for people," Natasha deduced. "They're motivating factors to do good or bad things. Usually good, but you never know."

"Interesting," James had never had to think about the lives his targets lead in such a way. From what he could remember, all he really needed to know was a name or location and he could get the job done.

"Who else?"

"Brian Sinclair," Natasha took a seat beside James and it didn't get past him that this was the closest they'd been, excluding his meltdown last night. If he inhaled deeply enough, he could detect a hint of lavender on her. "Remember him?" 

"Yeah, a little," James rubbed the back of his head. He should've taken notes earlier with all those people stopping by. 

"That's one of the reasons he's high in my list," Natasha explained. "He's the kind of guy that blends in well, until he makes his move. Plus he gave me a weird vibe."

"Weird?" James repeated.

"Weird was me being nice," she smirked. "Creepy is what I meant."

"Oh wait!" James laughed as he remembered this man being rather short and awkward looking but with cocky attitude that didn't match. "Was his wife the blonde with the big...uhh..." He stopped short when Natasha raised her eyebrows at him. 

"The big what?" She prodded.

"Ego," he fought the smile pulling at his lips. "The big ego."

"Right," she rolled her eyes and shook her head. "And yes, his wife was _'Tatiana.'_ " She spoke in the exaggerated over sexed voice she recalled the woman having. 

"She was a regular Mae West, huh?" James chuckled to himself, but stopped when he realized Natasha was just staring at him. "Mae West?" He repeated with no reaction from her. "'I'm No Angel, 'She Done Him Wrong?’" He kept trying even when she shook her head with furrowed brows. "'My Little Chicakadee?!'"

"My little what?" Natasha's lack of what James knew of pop culture was frustrating for both of them. 

"Never mind," he shook his head and made a mental note to pick up a magazine soon. "I doubt he'd be able to get any hydra jobs done without his wife knowing about it. She seemed nosy." 

"Are you saying that because she was hitting on you?" Natasha dropped the hint nonchalantly.

"What? No she wasn't," he denied.

"Oh please," she rolled her eyes again. She didn't need to have gone through intense seduction training to spot that woman's overt methods. "She went on and on about how 'refreshing' it was to have a young, handsome gentleman on the block."

"She was being friendly," James disagreed.

"And what was she being when she reached out at touched your biceps?"

"Neighborly?" James tried and failed to justify what even he recognized as flirting.

"Natalia Romanova," he spoke her full name to feign seriousness. "Are you jealous?"

"What?!" She scoffed at the accusation.

"You are, aren't you?"

"Not even a little."

"I can't believe the infamous Black Widow can be taunted by an average housewife," he teased. 

"I'm not jealous," Natasha spoke slowly, her face stoic. "I just think a married woman should refrain from flirting with another married man right in front of their spouses."

"Jealous!" James said in a fake cough, earning a glare from his partner. 

"Moving on," Natasha closed the folder and opened a new one. "My last suspects are the Bensons."

"You mean, Blaire Benson and her silent partner," he said as he opened their folder. He remembered them not only because they were first but because the wife had been the only person to give them a business card.

"Yep, she's pretty chatty," she commented while James spread out their file to see pictures of the couple. "And photogenic," she chuckled as he made horrified faces at the amount of pictures that were available. 

"Why would someone need this many pictures of themselves?" James asked, counting a total of fifteen pictures of Blaire Benson alone. 

"Again, vanity," She shrugged. "Blaire's husband is Frederick Benson; database administrator for the company. You should try to talk to him tonight," she suggested.

"How do we know he's capable of speaking?" James joked, remembering thinking this man seemed like he'd be afraid of his own shadow.

"Ha ha," Natasha rolled her eyes. 

"My father did always said its the quiet ones you've gotta worry about," he was still smiling until it dawned on him that he'd known something about his past without trying. His eyes spaced out as he tried and failed to figure out where the memory had come from. 

"James?" Natasha lowered her volume, noticing his sudden change in demeanor. She noticed his hands starting to shake and surprised herself by reaching out for his right hand. He flinched at her touch, but didn't move when she interlocked their fingers. 

"Is it ever gonna get easier?" He whispered to her, unable to meet her gaze. 

"Yes," Natasha exhaled her answer, wishing there was some way she could express her empathy better. 

"It feels like I keep taking one step forward and two steps back," he confided.

"It's still new for you," she tried. "It takes time. James, I promise you it'll get better."

"It won't hurt as much?" He asked with sad eyes.

"I didn't say that," Natasha returned his melancholy expression, knowing firsthand how the pain could sneak up on you when you least expect it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading :)


	6. Six

 

“You ready for this?” Natasha asked quietly and kept her gaze on the door in front of them.

“Yeah,” James cleared his throat to answer and extended his left arm out, palm open. Without a word she took it in hers, interlocking their fingers.

“Hmm,” She smirked to herself, making him look over. “It’s nothing,” She shook her head and glanced down at their hands. “It’s just...it still feels the same,” She said of his camouflaged metallic arm. Her skin could feel the metal beneath her own, igniting memories she stifled to ring the doorbell ahead of them. It only took a minute for the door to swing open and a fresh faced blonde to appear.

“James! Natalie!” Blaire Benson exclaimed their names with the utmost enthusiasm. “Welcome, welcome!” She squealed in excitement and pulled them both inside by the arms. “Please, come in! I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Thank you for having us,” Natasha fought to keep her smile as big as her neighbor’s.

“For you,” James smiled politely and offered up the bottle of wine they’d brought to the party. They’d found it in their own fully stocked liquor cabinet at the fake house.

“How thoughtful!” Blaire took the bottle and set it down on a coffee table in the spacious living room they were now entering. Both soviet spies looked around the room, subtly memorizing everything they could while maintaining their cover. “Everyone is out back,” Their blonde suspect continued. “But why don’t I take you on the Benson house tour first?” She beamed at them and lead the way through an open doorway. Natasha mocked the ecstatic expression as soon as she had their back to them, making James smirk and squeeze her hand tightly to his side.

“This is the kitchen, state of the art, might I add,” Blaire said, walking them through a room Natasha noticed was full of professional appliances that looked like they’d never been touched. “Stainless steel sink,” She pointed around as she spoke. “Marble countertop and we just remodeled the cabinets, what do you think?”

“Fabulous,” Natasha gushed even though she didn’t see anything extraordinary about the storage spaces.

“Right?” Blaire laughed to herself. “The knobs are antique brass, and that’s real oak, too. Come on.”

Natasha followed her out of the room and to the bottom of a staircase when she realized James was no longer beside her. She scurried back to the kitchen to find him knocking on the cabinet walls.

“What are you doing?!” She whisper yelled at him.

“Just checking,” James said seriously under his breath.

“Checking what??” Natasha looked over her shoulder to make sure their presence hadn’t been missed yet.

“To make sure it’s ‘real oak,’” James mimicked Blaire’s gaudy tone, and Natasha almost lost it. She stifled her laughter long enough to pull James away from the kitchen and usher him back behind Blaire without her noticing.

“...it’s been appraised at over fifty thousand dollars,” She was busy raving on about a painting that hung in a gold frame at the first flight of stairs. When she turned to look at them, both James and Natasha were nodded and pretending to stare intensely at the art.

“Amazing,” James spoke so intently Natasha couldn’t contain her laugh this time, and had to cover it by coughing exaggeratedly. “You okay, honey?” James’ concerned expression wasn’t helping her keep her cool.

“Fine, just fine,” Natasha straightened her spine and managed to keep strained smile on her face.

“Would you like some water?” Blaire asked, rubbing her hand on Natasha’s back.

“No, no,” She insisted. “I’m fine, it’s probably just...allergies,” She made up the lie like it was second nature.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, really,” Natasha assured her. “Please, let’s keep going. Your home is lovely,” She offered her sweetest smile until the blonde smiled back and kept walking upstairs. Before she followed, Natasha sucker punched James in the abs, the sound of pain he let out satisfying her.

The tour went on uneventfully, Blaire showing James and Natasha the large master bedroom, her son’s strangely neat room, along with three spare bedrooms; each more decadently decorated than the last. From what Natasha could see, Blaire Benson ran a tight ship, and if her husband was involved with hydra, it wouldn’t be without her knowledge or permission.

“And last, but certainly not least,” Blaire was saying now. “This is my office. I do a lot of business from home,” She smiled and clapped her hands together happily. Natasha walked around the spacious room with a massive centered desk to read the framed diplomas on the wall. First high school, then college, followed by a real estate license and a few commendations for a job well done. On the adjacent desktop sat pictures in decorated silver frames, these more personal.

The first was of Blaire and her husband, Frederick, on their wedding day; much resembling the phony one on their own mantle at home. Natasha had just begun to inspect the next photograph of who she assumed to be their neighbors children. On a bench sat two redheaded kids, a boy and girl, with toothy smiles and matching freckles. Natasha got lost in a daze staring at them, for she had always wondered if she’d had children, would share her ginger hair?

“Oh! That one’s my favorite!” Blaire Benson’s high pitched squeal brought Natasha’s attention to where she was approaching James. He was staring at a picture on her desk that Blaire was now picking up. “We got to meet at a charity dinner last year,” Blaire said. “Ten grand a plate, but it was so worth it.”

“Who is she?” James asked innocently enough, but once Natasha was in view of the picture, her stomach dropped.

“‘Who is she?’” Blaire repeated his question with a baffled grimace. “You can’t be serious!” She looked from James to Natasha multiple times while James realized his mistake, but was unable to rectify it.

“Uh…” He started to speak yet wasn’t sure what to say. Luckily, his stuttering was interrupted by Blaire Benson’s outrageously obnoxious laughter.

“Oh my dear James!” She said when her laugh subsided. “You truly are a computer whiz, aren’t you? My Frederick is just the same,” Blaire spoke to Natasha now with a knowing smile. “He wouldn’t recognize Madonna if she sat right in his lap!” Natasha laughed along with her new bleach blonde friend, happy to have an excuse for James’ lack of pop culture knowledge. “You boys need to get your noses out of your laptops,” Blaire shook her head and set the picture down, starting to head towards the door. “Honestly, not knowing who Oprah Winfrey is? You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Finally, someone who can relate,” Natasha quickly found something in common with Blaire, following her out of the room with James trailing behind.

“Us girls have to stick together,” Blaire nudged Natasha with her elbow as she walked them to a set of double doors that led outside. “Okay, I think I’ve kept you two to myself for long enough, why don’t we join the rest of the gang outside?”

“Wonderful,” Natasha’s tight smile dropped as soon as Blaire’s back was to her. She gave James a pointed look, silently warning him of what he already knew: he’d have to be more vigilant if he wanted to pull off this cover.

.

As the sun set, the barbecue was in full swing with what seemed like the whole block present. Natasha had separated from James to blend in with the other wives who’d done the same. She was currently in a conversation with two of her suspects; the kind brunette, Madison Crawford, and the dirty blonde woman who’d flirted with James, Tatiana Sinclair.

“I just love what Blaire’s done with this patio,” Madison was saying now. From what Natasha could tell, she was a generally friendly woman who’d been the most sincere to her since she arrived.

“I don’t know how I feel about the new swing,” Tatiana gave a sultry nod toward where a few children played on a wooden swing nearby. “And that god awful fountain is simply ostentatious,” She finished with a hushed giggle at her own joke.

“You’re so critical,” Madison chastised, but indulged in a small smile that Natasha mirrored.

“I do think the fountain is a bit extravagant,” Natasha decided to partake in the conversation, if only to build her character up.

“Well, I can you blame her?” Madison seemed to lower her volume to say. “You heard her say how much Freddy’s bonus was last month.”

“Ugh, please, astronauts on Mars heard about that bonus,” Tatiana rolled her eyes and took a swig of her wine while Natasha decided not to correct her inaccurate knowledge of space travel. “Be glad you missed it, Natalie,” She confided now. “Blaire can brag like no tomorrow, but she really outdid herself that time. I’m sure by now you’ve noticed all she talks about is herself?”

“She did seem to dwell on the subject,” Natasha tried not to make an enemy too soon.

“Oh, no,” Madison seemed truly disconcerted by her neighbor’s behavior. “I hope she didn’t put you off too much. She’s really a nice woman when you get to know her. Just a bit...prideful.”

“Hah!” Tatiana scoffed.

“She did seem to have a lot of awards from her real estate agency,” Natasha said, hoping to find out if money flowed freely from both Bensons.

“None from this decade,” Tatiana said smugly for someone Natasha knew only taught a yoga class part time.

“Tatiana!” Madison scolded yet smirked. “You’re so bad.”

“Excuse me, ladies,” James deep voice spoke from beside Natasha’s ear and she felt his hand snake around her waist confidently. “Can I borrow my wife for a second?”

“Of course,” Madison and Tatiana said in unison, both grinning like teenagers when James led her away from them and towards the over decorated patio they so disliked.

“What’s up?” Natasha asked urgently as they stopped in a secluded area of the party.

“Nothing,” James smiled and shrugged innocently at her. “I just thought you could use a break from all...this.” He gestured at the crowd of strangers surrounding them and she noticed his eyes soften down at her.

“You called me away from a conversation that could’ve been the key to this case...for nothing?” She clarified in her own terms.

“I’m...sorry,” James shook his head slowly. “I didn’t realize the conversation was so important.”

“It wasn’t,” Natasha said, not quite sure herself why she was upset. “You just never know what kind of information will be useful in these kinds of situations.”

“I’m sorry,” James repeated, feeling like he’d been doing a lot of apologizing today. “This whole thing is new to me, and I guess I just needed a break.”

“It’s not your fault,” She shook her head at her own behavior. “Being around these women is making me...uptight or something. How’re you doing?”

“Good,” James forgave easily. “I talked to Blaire’s mute husband for awhile. Turns out, he’s not mute, just incredibly boring,” His comments made Natasha laugh. “No, I’m serious. The second I got him to talk, he starts going on about some computer gaming system he’s trying to create. I swear, he went on for an hour about it.”

“These are your people!” Natasha accused.

“These are so not my people,” He denied fervently. “What about you? The wives reveal any nuclear launch codes yet?”  
“Nope,” She sighed. “What I did learn is that they all hate each other.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” She fought to keep her voice down. “They all talk behind each others’ backs then smile at them like nothing happened. It’s scary.”

“Scary?”

“Yeah,” Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. “Scary because they remind me of myself.”

“Natasha,” James spoke in a much more thoughtful tone. “You are nothing like them.”

“You don’t know me,” She shook her head.

“Yes,” He insisted. “I do.” His arms reached forward to grip her biceps lightly. “Natasha you’re not the nicest person, but you are genuine. You wouldn’t be fake like these women unless you had to be, and you do. You have to be because you’re trying to do some good in the world; things that no one will ever give you credit for. You’re nothing like them, trust me.”

And in that moment, she did. Natasha didn’t know what to expect from this mission at first, but she was starting to have faith in their partnership; something she rarely had. While she had grown more comfortable professionally, personally she found herself terrified. James might not have remembered their entire history, yet here he was, stirring up the same deep feelings within her.

“I have to get back,” Natasha said suddenly, turning away from James to walk back to her new friends, leaving him staring after her.

“Hey, there,” Natasha spoke now to Madison and Blaire. “What did I miss?”

“Not much,” Madison smiled kindly at her. “That husband of yours seems like a perfect gentlemen.”

“Oh, stop,” Natasha pretended to be embarrassed.

“No, really,” Blaire joined in. “He’s one of a kind,” She gushed. “And quite the looker,” Her wink made Natasha uneasy.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones who noticed,” Madison said, the others following her glance in another direction. Right where she’d left him, James was now talking very closely with Tatiana Sinclair; the busty woman he’d said reminded him of Mae West. Despite Natasha not knowing who the public figure was, she knew she must’ve been shapely.

“Oh, no,” Blaire’s eyes widened for a moment. “You’ll want to keep her far from your James.”

“Really?” Natasha asked, suddenly interested in what they had to say.

“Don’t you pay her any mind, Natalie,” Madison played devil’s advocate, as Natasha was getting used to.

“You’ll be careful if you want to keep him,” Blaire warned.

“Nonsense,” Madison persisted.

“Tell that to Martha Reed down the street,” Blaire leaned in to whisper.

“Who?” Natasha asked, though they ignored her.

“Those were just silly rumors,” Madison shook her head.

“Rumors?” Natasha repeated, this time getting a response.

“Don’t listen to her, Natalie,” Madison gave a last ditch effort.

“It was all the gossip last year,” Blaire launched into her story animatedly. “Supposedly Tatiana convinced Martha’s husband Jack to leave his wife only to change her mind last second, she’s fickle that way,” She paused to roll her eyes. “Poor Jack was so in love with her, he drove his car into a tree.”

“Wow,” Natasha was truly surprised that the scandal was remotely interesting.

“That was all pure speculation,” Madison assured her. “Besides, Natalie has nothing to worry about. Look at her she’s gorgeous, and it’s obvious James adores you.”

“Is it?” Natasha felt a rush of heat to her face and blushed, her first real emotion of the night.

“Of course!” Madison play pushed her. “He hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off you all night.” At her words, Natasha’s eyes glanced over to see James still speaking with Tatiana, but looking at her, just like they said. He threw her a nod and a wink, making her stomach flip uneasily.

“What i wouldn’t give to be a newlywed again,” Madison commented, catching their interaction.

“I can’t remember the last time Frederick looked at me like that,” Blaire volunteered.

“Yeah,” Natasha nodded slowly and swallowed her nerves. “I’m a lucky girl.”

.

 

Natasha and James left the barbecue when most of the guests did, making it a point not to leave too soon or linger long after. According to Natasha, it was important not to draw attention to themselves so soon into their covers. James was more than happy to oblige, for he’d grown tired of his conversations, and found it hard to focus after Natasha had smiled at him. Once inside their own safe house, Natasha let him in on new information she’d learned.

“Wait,” James stopped cold on the staircase as they made their way to their room. “So you’re saying I was talking to a woman who drove a man to suicide?”

“Not suicide,” Natasha shrugged and walked past him swiftly. “He lived, he’s just a little brain damaged.”

“A little brain damaged?” He repeated, remembering the lithe way Tatiana flirted with him. “What if I’m her next target?”

“Are you saying you’d be susceptible to her...charms?” Natasha stood in the doorway of their room with her hand on her hips waiting for his response.

“Uh no, no of course not,” James shook his head immediately. “I’m just saying…”

“Uh huh,” Natasha nodded, clearly not believing him, but finding his flustered state amusing. She turned without another word to get ready for bed, James not far behind her. He was less nervous than he’d been the night before, now used to the idea of sharing a bed with her; though he still prayed he wouldn’t dream. He was changing into his night shirt when he caught sight of her bare skin as she undressed.

She noticed his eyes on her first; well, noticed that his eyes weren't where most men stared. Instead of her half naked assets, James' eyes were looking up towards her left shoulder. It took her moment to remember what was there, but when she did, she didn't know what to say. His expression could only be described as intense, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to focus, on what she didn't know. The scar provoked something in his mind, but the more he focused, the more it slipped away. She could sense his frustration, knowing it herself a time or two, but didn't know what to say to help.

"May I?" He broke his hard gaze to look her in the eye and ask politely. His hand was halfway to touching her, waiting for permission. She nodded silently, holding her breath until his hand reached her.

He brushed his fingertips lightly on the small patch of skin that was still healing in a reddish tone. Natasha exhaled slowly, and told herself to relax. He'd touched her earlier, but that wasn't like this. This was real. She fought the urge to close her eyes and looked past him, trying not to show how nervous he was making her.  

"I did this," He said out loud, but she wasn't sure he was saying it to her or to himself.

"Yes," She confirmed, even though he hadn't really phrased it as a question.

"I don't remember," His eyes were filled with regret as his hand moved to stroke her arm gently. "I-I mean I do...it feels like it was a dream. Like I was watching myself in a movie but I had no control over what I was doing."

"I umm...I'm not mad about it," Natasha felt like she had to clarify.

"What else?" He seemed to ignore her attempts to forgive, the look in his eyes one searching only for the truth.

"Just a few scrapes and bruises," Natasha shrugged, recanting how sore she'd been days after their brawl on the street.

"You're lying," He stated matter of factly.

"No I'm not," She argued. He was so close all he had to do was extend his arm a bit to touch just above her hip bone. His thumb traced the bullet wound that had healed long ago. "Oh, yeah," Natasha nodded now, she'd forgotten. "That one's older."

"You weren't the target," He said seriously, still looking down at her waist.

"You...remember?" She asked quietly. Part of her wished that he wouldn't remember so that she wouldn't have to relive it. It was bad enough for her  the first time she realized her winter soldier was a contract killer once again. She could still feel the pang in her heart when the sun glinted off his metal arm in the distance, making her freeze in her place. He didn't hesitate to take the opportunity to shoot through her, but even then she kept looking for him. He was gone before she knew it, leaving her with the sad truth, he was alive, he was fine, and he hadn't bothered to look for her.

"No," James was answering her question while she remained in her memories. "I don't remember, but if you'd been the target, I wouldn't have missed." The darkness of his answer made her laugh and him in turn smile for a flash before returning to a solemn expression. "I'm sorry," he spoke sincerely.

"It's okay," Natasha shrugged yet again. "You weren't...yourself."

"Still."

"James," She reached forward to place a hand to his cheek. He subconsciously leaned into it, her smooth palm feeling like heaven on his five o'clock shadow. "It's okay. Really. Besides, I don't mind having a few battle scars."

"Why not?" He smirked, this fact about her not surprising him.

"I guess it makes me feel more human," She found herself looking away from his gaze. What she didn't say aloud was that she liked having them. They made her feel like a warrior. And if she'd fought for something, that meant she believed in something. Even with the fall of shield, she told herself this.

"Show me," He spoke and she looked up to see him grinning down at her, the look in his eyes giving her butterflies like they did all those year ago.

.

An hour later, they were laying out on the bed comparing war wounds. Natasha was still in her underwear while James laid topless. Despite the amount of skin shown, neither of them were taking advantage, too engrossed in their show and tell game.

"What about that one?" James pointed to a jagged but circular scar on her calf that most people didn't spot.

"That bad boy I got from Clint," she shook her head, staring down at the now pale reminder. "I don't think you met him, did you?"

"No," He shook his head, and noted the nostalgic look in her eyes. He hadn't seen her look so soft on another person she spoke of to date.

"Well he's an archer," she divulged. "Works for shield, he's one of the best."

"And he shot you?"

"With an arrow," she nodded, still smiling, unbeknownst to him. James' bewildered eyes gave her cause to explain. "He's the one that brought me into Shield, convinced me that I could be someone other than...who I was," James watched her love for this man present itself on her face, and couldn't help but feel a bit jealous. All the time he'd spent under someone else's control cost him time with Natasha. He hadn't missed that until now. "You know, he was supposed to kill me that night," she laughed to herself.

"Instead he shot you," James smiled with her, happy to share in her memories.

"Yeah," She nodded. "I guess it was a pretty fair deal. Alright, it’s your turn.”

“Okay,” He had to arch his back and look over his shoulder to draw attention to a scar he knew to be on his lower back. “See that?” Natasha leaned in closer and nodded. “Knife fight in Hong Kong.”

“Hong Kong?” She repeated. She’d been there too, but had a hard time picturing James in the bustling city.

“Yep,” He nodded. “Dark alley, man in a mask had a friend no one warned me about,” He shrugged. “It hurt like a…,”

“But you got the guy right?” Natasha knew the answer, but had to ask.

“Both of ‘em,” James nodded, not sure how to feel about that.

“What else?” Natasha asked, noticing his slip into oblivion.

“That’s it,” He shrugged. “The rest I...I don't know how I got them.”

“I have a few of those too,” She confided.

“Yeah?”

“This one,” Natasha tucked her hair behind her left ear and leaned in to show him an old scar. “I've had for as long as I can remember. Even before the red room. No idea how I got it.”

“Sometimes…” James started, only to stop, shaking his head at himself.

“What?”

“It's stupid.”

“So?” Her response made him smirk, and he realized he felt like he could say anything in front of her, and not be judged.

“Sometimes…” He divulged. “I make up stories, fake stories of how I got them.”

“Like what?”

“Really boring things,” James had never told anyone this, and thought it sounded even dumber outloud. “As if I were normal enough to actually get them doing mundane chores.”

“Tell me.” Natasha was strangely intrigued.

“I have this one,” He crossed his legs to give her a better view of the mark on the side of his left foot. “And I figured a normal me could've gotten it by tripping on a rake in the backyard.”

“What else?”

“This is silly,” He shook his head.

“No, it's not. Please?” He didn't tease her for saying please, not wanting to antagonize her in such a good moment.

“Well,” He went on. “I think a normal me could’ve gotten this one above my eyebrow,” He pointed to a spot just north of his clear blue eyes. “Tripping in the kitchen and hitting the sink.”

“I love it,” Natasha encouraged, her smile wide.

“And this little mark right here,” He reached out his human arm to show her a scar on his hand; between his index finger and thumb. “I think I could've gotten it on a drunk Fourth of July. Maybe I didn't move quick enough after lighting a firework or something.”

Unlike the times before, Natasha’s face fell the longer she stared down at his hand.  

“What?” James asked, suddenly concerned.

“Nothing,” She lied, and she knew he knew it.

“Natalia,” His voice was as serious as his eyes while he stared at her.

“It's just...I've seen a scar like that before.”

“Really? On who?”

“Clint has one like it.”

“How'd he get it?” James was more intrigued by the idea of unravelling the small mystery than the idea that the mere memory of Barton made her seems nervous.

“It doesn't necessarily mean you got it the same way.”

“Natasha,” She didn't want to tell him which only made him want to know more.

“He said he got it in combat,” Natasha finally answered, but couldn’t get herself to look at James. “A guy had a revolver and pulled the trigger. Clint stuck his hand between the hammer and the gun before it could go off.”

James nodded in understanding, realizing she wasn't apprehensive about bringing Clint up, but about crushing his false dreams of something as simple as a normal scar.

“Who knows though? Maybe yours really is from a firework,” She spoke up when his face grew sullen.

“But it's not likely,” He shook his head at himself, chastising himself internally while faking a small smile. “I told you it was stupid.”

“James,” Natasha spoke his name softly and leaned in to cup his face in her hands. “It’s not stupid.”

He was hypnotized by the lush jade of her eyes as she forced him to look at her. All at once, he was aware of their proximity; her bare skin touching his as if it were natural. He could feel her cool breath on his lips, the sensation making him lean in for more. Like a spell, her eyes pulled him in towards her, their lips almost touching. Before they could meet, Natasha pulled away, her conscious screaming at her to guard her heart.

“I’m sorry,” James apologizing was becoming second nature to him now.

“No,” Natasha shook her head and stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry, I just - I can’t,” The words were the last thing out of her mouth before she darted into the bathroom, leaving James stuck in a daze without her.

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was weird for me because Bucky and Natasha are my #1 couple but Natasha and Clint are #2 so I didn't wanna completely dismiss their relationship.  
> I hope you enjoyed, thank you for stopping by :)


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello : )
> 
> No excuses for not updating, but what happened was.......a friend sort of made fun of me for being into fan fiction and it kind of put me off it for awhile.  
> However, I watched Sebastian Stan's interview at Salt Lake comic con and felt like hey if i like writing too, I should do it for me and not worry about other people. I hope you can relate.
> 
> Anyways!! I hope you like this

Seven

 

 James tossed and turned all that night, his mind troubled. Unbeknownst to himself, he was talking in his sleep the deeper he fell into old memories. He wasn’t aware he was dreaming, but aware that he was remembering.

The room he was in was one he knew he frequented at this time everyday. His thoughts were frustratingly distracted as his eyes searched the room again and again, always coming up with the same results; she wasn’t here. In the room full of adolescent girls, his star pupil was missing. He knew better than to ask anyone for her whereabouts and knew he shouldn’t care, yet when it was time for class to end, he heard himself sigh, knowing there was nothing he could do.

Three days past until he saw the child known as Natalia again. She walked into class with the rest of the girls as if nothing was wrong, although something obviously was. Natalia kept her head high as he began his training, careful not to look him in the eye. His thoughts were filled with confusing concern for her, with an underlying voice telling him to do as he’d been told. His assignment was to train these girls, and train them well. The more he tried to let it go, the more his brain pushed for him to question what he knew.

Class progressed as usual, none the wiser to his obvious distraction, until a tone sounded to end it. His students filed out of the room, Natalia staying behind as usual; her focus was intense on hitting her mark on the punching bag in front of her. The disagreeing voices in his head fought louder and louder until he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to act.

“What happened?” He asked, his boots stomping loudly on the floor as he beelined for her. He'd lost all patience, now practically demanding answers.

"With what, sir?" She stood up straight and looked him in the eye, but there was something different. Her eyes had a sadness to them, almost empty behind her stoic expression.

"With you," He cut to the chase. "You've been gone."

“I'm sorry sir, I was ill," Her response seemed rehearsed, and her eyes darted away from his own.

"And your face?" He asked, staring long and hard at the swelling around her left eye, not to mention her busted lower lip.

"I can ask the others what I missed," She said, intent on the punching bag in front of her yet again. "I won't fall behind."

"I know you won't," He disregarded her concerns. The fact that she was avoiding his questions wasn't a good sign to him. "Who did this to you?"

His voice was clear, cutting through the silence of the room like a knife. She stared down at her feet and ran her tongue over the cut on her lip. This was the first time he'd ever seen her nervous, a vast contrast from the confident front she put up.

"I tripped and fell," She told the floorboards in a quiet murmur.

"And these?" He startled her by grabbing her arms and holding them up. There he could see the finger shaped bruises wrapped around her wrists in dull purple shades. "Did the ground give these to you as well?"

Her expression hardened as she tried to pull away from him unsuccessfully . He held his grip on her, determined to get to the truth.

"Let go," She said through gritted teeth, the fire returning to her eyes.

"Tell me who did this," He replied, ignoring her attempts to free herself.

"Let. Go!" She pulled one last time with all her might and failed, her breath hitching in her throat as she choked up. His eyes widened at the sight of her shaky breathing and watery eyes. He let go of her instantly, frozen in place. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and stiffened her spine, trained to hide such breakdowns from everyone.

"If we're done sir I--,”

“We're not," He interrupted her quivering sentence. His heart was breaking at the miserably despondent stillness in her eyes but he had to know. He had to help. Her shoulders slumped and she looked away again, prompting him to move. Cautiously, he lifted a hand to her shoulder, lightly rubbing it as comfortingly as he could muster.

"Natalia," He said, his voice sounding more calm now. "I can help you," Her green eyes glanced up into his, filled with doubt. "But you have to be honest with me.”

The apprehension was clear in her expression as she mulled over his offer. James knew he shouldn’t even be having this conversation, but a larger force inside himself knows he’s doing the right thing; something he cannot stop himself from doing. The longer her pause to answer went on, the angrier he grew at whoever could hurt a child like this.

"It was commander Petrovitch," she finally whispered. He couldn't control the way his knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists. He knew to trust his instincts about people. "He said it was part of my training. He said I'd make a fool of myself if I had no experience." She still couldn't quite look him in the eye.

"Experience...?" He repeated, knowing all too well how much experience she had being slapped around.

"With...men," She spoke shyly, a slight blush creeping over her cheeks. Almost instantly, his body reacted, the room spinning and his stomach bubbling over like he was going to be sick. She mistook his horrified expression and tried to cover, "I've done other things," She thought he was disgusted with her lack of knowledge. "Commander Petrovitch has taught me how."

"How? How to what?" He found himself asking, dreading the answer. His mind was reeling.

"How to please men," She looked up at him through her thick lashes and bit her lip again. "He said I was the best at that, just like he knew I'd be, but that there was more. That in order to trick men and serve my country, I'd have to...have to lay with them."  
His mouth was dry by now, his mind waging war over the fact that this was none of his business and the wrenching in his gut telling him to protect this child.

"It was my fault," She continued, staring guiltily at the wall. "He told me to lie still, and I did...but...but I panicked and tried to fight. I-I didn't mean to it just..it hurt," She tried to explain, still upset. "He held me down until he was finished. And then he said he was proud of me."

"Natalia," He spoke clearly now, his voice drawing her eyes up. "It will never happen again."

"What?" Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "But commander Petrovitch said I must--"

“No," He stopped her firmly. "Natalia, no one should ever lay a finger on you, unless you want them to. Do you understand? You are in control."

"I...," She blinked at him, his words sounding foreign to him. "I'm in control."

"Yes," he nodded, wanting to ensure that she never forgot this. "I'll handle the commander. He will never. Never. Touch you again."

"How...," she looked at him like he'd just offered to fly her to Rome on his back.

"Don't worry about that," he shrugged her concerns off.

"Why would you do that?" She wanted to know, confused and curious about his intentions.

"Believe it or not, sometimes people do kind things for others just for the sake of being kind." He softened his expression, trying to instill faith.

"And you want nothing in return?" She asked, her voice dripping with skepticism.

"I've heard of these people," she gave him a small smile. "They're called friends."

"Okay." He nodded, liking the sound of it. "Friends."

 

When James woke up, he knew he couldn’t forget this dream like all the others. He couldn’t go on with this mission without knowing the truth about what happened between the two of them. He didn’t know what memories to trust, which were real and which were implanted? He needed answers and there was only one person who had them.

It was early in the morning yet he’d woken alone so he didn’t bother changing out of his pajamas as he left the bedroom to find Natasha. Despite the intense determination he felt building, he came to a halt at the bottom of their staircase when he saw her sitting on the couch. She too was in her pajamas, her knees hugged tightly to her chest with a book in her hand. As if the quiet beauty of her wasn’t enough, he felt something stir within himself when he realized she was reading The Diary of Anne Frank. He was only able to stay stealth for a moment, her eyes eventually peering up at him from behind the paperback.

“Hey,” Her voice was scratchy and her eyes were tired, making him wonder how long she’d been awake. The thought her being unable to sleep made him want to save his questions for another time, but he knew he couldn’t. He’d waited long enough.

“I need to know about us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's shorter, I'm trying to get back into the habit of writing. Have a nice day : )


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was kind of dark, but I hope you're still into this.

Eight

“I need to know about us,” James’ words echoed in Natasha’s ears, bouncing around in her mind as it went blank.

At first, Natasha just stared, too stunned to really react to his request. She'd been playing the guessing game when it came to how much he'd known about their past, but didn’t think he'd come straight out and ask like this. Although she was surprised, Natasha couldn't help but remember his bluntness fondly. He'd always been honest with her when no one else had. Accompanying the positive, was of course the negative, to speak lightly. The negative to Natasha was in actuality, the harsh, intense pain she associated with their past. She could feel the shattered pieces of the heart he'd once broken now pulling at their stitches. Her mind used all its strength to keep those healed wounds in tact long enough to have this conversation.

"Why umm...," She cleared her throat, her voice sounding too vulnerable for her liking. "Why don't you tell me what you remember and I can...fill in the blanks."

"Not much," James shook his head and scratched at the back of his new short hair; a nervous habit Natasha had picked up on. "I remember that...I loved you, even though I tried not to. The memories are all mixed up though." He sat down on the couch beside her, turning to face her while she resigned to staring forward at the half eaten muffin she’d tried to eat earlier. Unable to sleep a wink, Natasha had come downstairs to leave James in peace; that and she knew if she watched him sleep any longer, the curve of his slumbered cheek would bring up old feelings.

As he sat down in his plaid pajama pants and white muscle shirt, Natasha set her book down and felt her stomach start to go uneasy. He was careful not to touch her despite his close proximity, something in his mind recognized when she was trying to hide her true feelings; something she was a pro at.

"I have memories of you very young," He smiled at the thought. "With bangs and pigtails," Natasha's jaw tensed ever so slightly at his admission but he couldn't stop, he needed to let this out. "But then sometimes I see you lying naked in my arms, much older...beautiful," Natasha was well aware that he was staring at her while he spoke, but she couldn’t look up, not if she stood any chance of making it through this conversation. "I can feel your skin at my fingertips...remember you telling me you love me and--"

"We met when I was a child," Natasha had to stop him before he brought back memories of her own. She'd spent too long pushing them down, if only to force herself to move on.

"Yes," She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye, eager for more information. "You had freckles, and a serious attitude," his laugh was light as he remembered her fondly.

"You were...the first friend I ever had," She continued, choosing her words carefully. "You tried to protect me even though you didn't know me."

"I...did I break a man's fingers?" He asked, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him.

“I think so,” Natasha nodded. She remembered about the Winter Soldier kindly telling her not to worry about her inappropriate commander.

"Because he..."

"I know," She finished curtly. She didn't need him recount every exact detail of her experience to do this. "Well, I didn't know that you were gonna do that at the time, but I figured it out when my handler showed up one day with a cast and told us you weren't with the program anymore." She smirked, then frowned at the memory. Even as a child she'd felt the weight on her shoulders of knowing she couldn't be saved. "You went away, they said, on a mission. It was years until I saw you again."

Natasha closed her eyes and went back in time, telling the story she never allowed herself to think about.

_They brought her into a cold, tiled room she’d never been privy to before, and she knew to take whatever this was seriously. As if the stony silence of her handler wasn’t enough, the room was heavily guarded, the other half of the personnel present wearing lab coats. Natasha straightened her spine and did what she was trained to do: show no fear._

_“I have a special task for you today, Natalia,” Ivan said in a tone she didn’t like much._

_“Anything, sir,” She responded monotonously as the men in white coats shuffled around with hushed voices._

_“Now,” The commander spoke to whoever was in charge around here and the voices silenced, all the men giving off a nervous energy. A moment later, the men split themselves off, revealing a burly man strapped to a metal chair with tubes and wires connected to what looked like every part of him._

_Natasha stared at the man in utter shock, not letting her face give away even a hint of it, though. There in the chair, sat the man she’d known as a girl, the same floppy brown hair she’d originally thought was funny looking, draped over his face. His cold blue eyes stared off in the distance as if he were unaware of any of his surroundings. She felt her knees weaken as if her legs would give out beneath her, and she suddenly felt guilty. The soldier hadn’t been on a mission like they’d told her; he was sitting somewhere locked away...because of her. He’d promised to protect her and instead, she was the reason for the blank and desolate look on his face._

_“Do you remember this man?” Ivan’s voice was like a loudspeaker rocking her body violently._

_“No, sir,” She made sure not to answer too fast, and keep her expression in check. “Who is he?”_

_Rather than reply to her, Ivan walked ever so slowly towards the soldier, snapping his fingers to get his attention and speaking to him in Russian._

_“Soldier,” He spouted his words like a command. “Do you know this girl?” For a brief second, Natasha’s heart stopped. She knew the wrong answer would surely result in this man’s further imprisonment, but doubted he knew that. He didn’t look like he knew much of what was going on, yet she thought she saw something when he looked up. His icy stare was still blank when he made eye contact with her, but she was sure she saw a flicker of recognition behind his gaze. Whatever it was, it was fleeting._

_“No,” The soldier responded in Russian, his voice hoarse and tired. She wondered exactly where he’d been, and what hell her own captors had forced upon him. She’d been taught to tow the line when it came to following rules, and knew not to speak further, hoping she’d done enough to free him._

.

“That was the first time I ever lied to them,” James divulged now, speaking gently.

“Me, too,” Natasha looked sideways at him sadly. “Do you...remember where you were during that time?”

“No,” James furrowed his brows and rubbed the side of his head frustratingly. “I just remember recognizing you...thinking that you’d grown up to be so beautiful...that even if they put me under again...seeing you would’ve been enough.”

Natasha sat up straighter in her seat and cleared her throat. This is what she’d been trying to avoid; a heartfelt conversation about bygones. She had to moved forward, treat this like a Shield briefing and list the facts.

“They let you out of whatever prison you were in after that,” She disclosed. “You started training me again, and we were paired on a lot of missions.”

“When did we start…,” James still felt uncomfortable talking about their shared past that he barely recalled. He could name the locations of all the freckles on her body, but still found himself stuttering to put their relationship into words.

“It wasn’t long,” She could feel her mouth trying to smile at the thought of them attempting to fight their attraction to one another.

“And...what happened?” He asked now, and she had to look him in the eye for this part. This was the part she thought about late at night, the piece of the puzzle that never seemed to fit.

“You...left,” Simply put, it infuriated her how two little words could’ve caused her exponential pain over the years.

“I what?” James was sure he heard her wrong.

“You escaped,” Natasha stared straight into his clear blue confused eyes. “We were out on a mission and were supposed to meet up at a safe house but you never showed,” She could hear her own voice recounting the events, but her head was back in that moment. Waiting alone on that balcony for hours, worried out of her mind that something had happened to him only to be found by her handler and his minions. Petrovitch had broken the news that the Winter Soldier had gone AWOL. “They tried to track you down but you were off the grid by then.”

“What?” He repeated, asking himself more than her. None of this made sense to him, and he hated himself for not being able to remember. "I must've had a reason..."

She shrugged, and he finally looked into her eyes, seeing too clearly how much pain he'd caused her.

"Natasha, I'm so sorry," He put a hand on her thigh and leaned in to say.

"Don't be," Her voice had stiffened along with her expression, shutting off any emotion she'd let show. "It was a long time ago."

"Still," he tried again, despite her hardened exterior. "I remember loving you a-and wanting to leave, but together! I don't know why I would've gone alone..."

"Well," She stood abruptly, physically signifying how done she was with the topic. "That makes two of us," she shrugged again and spoke before he could try to apologize again. "You should go, you're going to be late."

“What?” James frowned, the burden of this new information chaining him to his seat on the couch.

“Wayne Enterprises?” Natasha reminded him of the reason they were here in the first place. “You can’t be late on the first day.”

“Natalia, I can’t just--,”

“Don’t call me that!” She snapped, her old name being the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“I’m sorry.”

“And stop apologizing,” Her sigh was heavy as she picked up the plate with her half eaten muffin on it and headed towards the kitchen.

“Natasha,” James tried again, trailing behind her. “We can’t just leave things like this.”

“Why not?” She talked to her hands as she placed her dish into the sink. “This is exactly where things have been for years.”

“I know, but--that’s not--,” He struggled for sufficient words. “It doesn’t have to be that way now. You’re here, I’m here, we can--,”

“Exactly!” Natasha ceased washing dishes and headed off in another direction. “You’re here, and you shouldn’t be. You’re going to be late.”

“Promise me we’ll talk about this when I get home?” James tried, feeling powerless.

“We don’t have time for this,” She rolled her eyes and bounded up the stairs two at a time. “It’s not mission critical.”

“It is to me!” His raised voice made Natasha halt at the top step. James hadn’t realized it, but his chest was heaving and his fists were clenched; the left one starting to crush the wooden railing it rested on beside him. He unclenched his jaw and took a deep breath when he saw the defensive look she now wore. A showdown would solve nothing, but James was stubborn in his resolve.

“Fine,” Natasha gave him a single nod. She’d spent so long hating him, she’d forgotten how easy it was for him to lose control of his emotions. Poking the bear was not her best course of action.

“We’ll talk when I get home?” He clarified for certainty, the warmth returning to his expression.

“Only if you leave now,” She agreed to the terms, figuring she’d cross that bridge when she got to it. “Remember to blend in,” Natasha added after walking away; she’d had enough of the past for now.

Little did she know, James was just getting started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that I'm open to requests?


	9. Nine

Nine

 

He stalked her like prey in the night as she made her way around the corner. She was lithe in her steps, moving as if she knew she was being watched. She turned back to look over her shoulder curiously while he ducked into a doorway; the chase was part of the fun. After a moment, she picked up her speed, first walking faster then almost jogging. His heightened senses told him she was about to run into a group of conversing superiors and he knew now was the time the strike. 

The soldier picked up his speed instantly, meeting her pace for a second only to pull her abruptly from the hallway and into what he knew to be a wiring closet. The wind was knocked out of her as he tackled her inside then slammed her back against the closed door, locking it behind her. 

"Caught you," He smirked down at her triumphantly though she looked unimpressed.

"I clocked you in the window in the third corridor," she shrugged smugly.

"You're getting better," He admitted, locking his arms around her and pinning her to the door. "But I was following you long before then." 

His hushed whisper in her ear gave her goosebumps and made her lose all self control as she usually did around him, her hands pulling him down for a kiss before her mind knew what she was doing. She hadn't realized how much she missed the taste of him until their tongues met, but once they did, her fingers tangled in his messy hair to pull him impossibly closer. 

"You were gone too long," she informed him in a breathy sentence. Their mouths searched each other’s hungrily until she let out the smallest of moans, the sound stirring a desire within him. Knowing time was never on their side, the soldier let his hands roam her body freely, gripping her all over in firm but tender touches. She reached forward to undo his belt, hating and loving how rushed their reunions always seems to be. 

"Let me make it up to you?" His voice was angelic but his eyes were glaring into hers devilishly as he slid her pants down lower and lower. 

"If you...insist," Natasha's words were interrupted by the warm sensation of his right hand trailing down from her waist to her hip, traveling ever so slowly between her thighs. 

"You're not wearing underwear," the soldier noted, the proof right in front of him. He could feel the heat radiating from her body the lower his hand got, the warmth arousing him more than he cared to admit. 

"I saw your car drive in," she spoke under a shaky breath as she lifted a leg up around him. His eyes widened at her confession, the thought of her walking around scantily clad just waiting for him was enough to drive him wild. "Ahh..." She exhaled slowly as he bit down on her lip, simultaneously rubbing his thumb in soft circles below. He knew her well enough to know how much she enjoyed a bit of pain with her pleasure. She was so hot already, her temperature only rising when he slid his middle finger inside her slowly. 

"Mm..." She felt him groan into her mouth before sloppily moving down to kiss at her neck. He was always hesitant to use his left arm, but now let it's metallic fingers grip her right breast as his mouth came down to kiss her left one. There, they'd learned, was one of the few places he could leave a mark on her. She fought the intense urge to vocalize her delight as he slid another finger into her. He kept her back pressed against the door with her leg pinned up, giving him just the right angle to move at a rhythm inside of her. She tugged at his hair as her only outlet while her gratification built and built beneath her. His mouth bit and sucked at her breasts, feeling her heartbeat speed up within her.

"Ahh...yesssss," The faster he worked his fingers inside her, the less control she had over herself. He was enjoying her lack of restraint but knew it could cost them if she were heard. "Yes, yes....mmm...," she shut her eyes and tried to contain herself but his steadily increasing speed and mouth on her chest was too much. Like almost every time before, he raised his left hand and covered her mouth, worried for both of their safety. "Mmm..." She mumbled her cries of pleasure into his metal hand as his skilled fingers pushed her over the edge into seeing stars. She felt almost dizzy as he released his hold over her mouth only to replace it with soft, eager kisses. Her body was reeling but she tried to kiss him back, loosening her grip on his hair to touch his cheek affectionately.

"Next time," she spoke shakily. "Don't be gone so long." 

 

.

 

Natasha sprang up in bed fast enough to make her head spin. Her eyes darted around wildly to make sure she was alone, her chest heaving up and down from the dream. She reached her fingers up and felt how hot her neck was; it was as if his lips were there only a moment ago. Sleeping in had been a bad idea.

As soon as she calmed herself down, Natasha got out of bed to get dressed in a flash and she was out the door in under two minutes. With no particular destination in mind, she started running, only to be stopped in her tracks a moment later. There, in the middle of the empty street stood two of the housewives, waving her over happily. She jogged over to her marks and gave a phony surprised smile. 

“Hiiiii Blaire! Madison!” Natasha’s high pitched and girly greeting was met with equally false voices of surprise. 

“Fancy running into you out here!” Madison Crawford said after a short embrace.

"Natalie, darling, you're late to the party!" Blaire smirked and pulled her in for a hug that felt cold. 

"I must have lost my invitation," she joked with a fake chuckle. 

"We were just wrapping up our daily workout," Madison informed her, a kind smile on her lips. 

"Oh really?" Natasha was intrigued now, finally something she could insert herself into. "I was just about to go for a jog myself."

"You absolutely have to join us tomorrow," Madison rubbed Natasha's arm encouragingly. 

"Oh I couldn't intrude," She feigned worry and self doubt, slipping into manipulation as if it were her catsuit.

"We'd love to have you!" Madison squealed with wide eyes. "Wouldn't we, Blaire?"

"Of course," Blaire's tone was less genuine, but Natasha expected nothing less. "We meet around nine, you know as soon as the men have left and the children are off to school. Speaking of children," Natasha saw Blaire's eyebrow raise at the possibility of gossip. "Have you and James started trying yet?"

"Blaire!" Madison swatted her friends arm in shock. "That's far too personal! Natalie, honey, don't pay any attention to her."

"It's alright," Natasha shrugged and looked away coyly, tucking her hair behind her ear for effect. 

"Sorry," Blaire's apology was empty, her expression smug. Natasha noted that her platinum blonde neighbor had a tendency to be a bully and seemed to enjoy it. "Perhaps that's a conversation best had over a glass of wine."

"Or two," Natasha's response appeared to surprise Blaire.

"See, she's got the right idea," She winked at her and nudged Madison. 

"Well, we'll leave you to it," Blaire settled on shaking her head at them two. "And we better see you out here tomorrow, bright and early!"

"You girls are in such great shape, I hope I can keep up," Natasha said as she backed away. 

"We'll see!" Blaire waved as Madison pulled her away and towards her house. 

“Bye now,” Natasha held her friendly gaze until both neighbors were inside then let it go with a sigh. Fighting with the Avengers had almost made her forget what anonymity felt like. A run would ease her mind.

Unfortunately, shaking her mind free of James was easier said than done. After pushing her body to its limits, Natasha ran herself a bath and tried to make her new home feel more her style yet still found herself worrying about what her adoring husband would want to talk about when he got home. Halfway through the day her  attempts to distract herself were in full swing. She'd set up her laptop in the kitchen and was writing her initial reports for the mission with unusual enthusiasm. Normally, mundane parts of the job like this were the kind of thing she procrastinated or pawned off on anyone she could, but this today she couldn't be happier to send Hill all the boring details.

No sooner did Maria cross her mind than did her username appear on her screen accompanied by an annoying ring. Contact before its scheduled time was odd to Natasha, but she chalked it up to the delicate situation Shield's latest asset was in. 

"Hill," Natasha spoke clearly after answering the call. There in her office Maria Hill had reached out yet she looked uncomfortable to Natasha for some reason. 

"How are you?" Maria's strained expression and high pitch confirmed Natasha's suspicion. 

"Fine," she narrowed her eyes. "I'm alone, what's up?" 

"Good," Hill gave a sigh of great irritation. "First, I'd just like to say I have no idea how he found out--

"How who found out what?" Natasha didn't understand why she was talking so fast and being so unclear.

"Second, Fury and I are against all forms of communication but he insisted and wouldn't leave my office until--" Maria's words were cut off by the screen jolting away from her to the ceiling until landing on square on a man's abdomen.

"I can see her, why can't she see me?" Natasha would've recognized that voice anywhere, and let out her own sigh at the identification. 

"Lower, Cap," Natasha advised, her lips pulling into a smirk at his senior moment. Her screen suddenly shifted to a close up of the jeans he must've been wearing and she fought the urge to face palm. "Not the camera, you! YOU need to be lower, Grandpa."

"Oh!" The voice spoke ominously until it followed her instructions and she was finally face to face, screen to screen with Steve Rogers. "Got it." 

"Nice to see you, Cap," Natasha greeted her old friend like it hadn't been months since they spoke.

"Where is he? Can I talk to him?" He asked in an eager slur.

"No!" Maria could be heard in the background, going on to explain how that could be detrimental to Barnes' progress.

"I don't care about the mission," He countered. "He shouldn't even be on one! What was Fury thinking? What were YOU thinking?" He directed his anger at Natasha now. "He's unstable and you know I've been looking for him, you should've called me as soon as you were brought in on this!" 

"I know," Natasha surprised him by admitting. Even he looked stumped, having probably prepared himself for a big argument. 

"Then why didn't you?"

"He asked me not to," Her excuse seemed to satisfy him momentarily, making him take a breath from whatever crusade he'd been on to get answers.

"And he's not here. Today was his first day of work.”

“Work?" He repeated as if it were a foreign word. "He has a job?"

"No, but James Rushman does."

"This is absurd," The captain shook his head disapprovingly. "He needs treatment, not a mission. It's too stressful for him so soon after Hydra."

"It's really not," Natasha reassured him though her eyes wandered to the now busted railing at the bottom of the staircase. "We're basically pretending to be a normal married couple. No combat, no espionage, nothing."

"Really?" Steve sighed, wondering if he could believe her. "He's not in any danger?"

"Only from overheating housewives," She smirked, hoping to get a laugh out of him. No such luck. "I'm handling things, Rogers."

"Natasha...," She guessed his question before he asked it. "Why didn't you tell me you two had a history? "

"You know me...don't ask don't tell," Her dry humor wasn't working to distract him so she sighed and shrugged. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want anyone to know."

"Sounds simple enough," He said after a long pause. "Although I doubt it is." Natasha wished she could claim to have a meeting to go to like she would if they were at Shield headquarters just to get away from this conversation. Instead, she buried her head in her hands and tried to think of what to say next. Steve surprised her with an innocent expression and an honest question.

"What...what was he like?" He asked, his eyes sincere. "Was he this menacing soldier they made him out to be or...or did he have a soul...I don't know what to think."

"Neither does he," She confided ruefully. "When I knew him, he wasn't the same winter soldier they made him out to be."

"What do you mean?"

"He wasn't as...blank as he was when he came after us on the freeway. He was more...human. He had a personality," She tried not to smile as she thought about the ways he'd try to make her laugh after a bad training day or the dessert he'd sneak her although she wasn't allowed to have it. "He wasn't Bucky, but he wasn't the Winter Soldier, he was just..."

"James?" He finished her sentence with a wry smile. 

"Yeah."

"Would you tell me about him? Please?" He sensed her hesitation immediately and retreated. "If it's not too personal that is. I understand if you don't want to, I just...really want to know." She thought about saying no, but ultimately decided she couldn't; remembering that Steve was all alone in this new world.

"He'd laugh,” She started. “Not often, but sometimes. He was serious mostly, focused on getting me ready when we trained and then dead set on completing a mission we were on. He was kind, but no one ever got close enough to see that side of him.” 

"Except you."

"Yeah," She let herself smile. "We connected, in a way I didn't know was possible. He was the first friend I ever made."

"Mine too," Steve found himself happy that his old friend was in the charge of his new one; even if he doubted she was telling him the whole truth.

“I know it’s hard,” Natasha thought back on how James tensed at the very thought of Steve’s name. “But I think James just needs some space right now.”

“Space from me?” His expression was similar to that of a lost puppy. 

“From everything,” She clarified. 

“I can hold off on contact,” Rogers replied diplomatically. “If you make me one promise.”

“I’m listening.”  
“Watch out for him,” Steve’s voice struck a chord in her she didn’t know was vulnerable. “Have his back.”

“I promise.”

 

.

 

The sun had almost set when James got him from his first day. He was tired in a bored sort of way, the day’s tasks not what he was accustomed to. Aside from trying to blend in, he’d also been fighting the urge to leave the mundane job early and finish his conversation with Natasha at home. His patience was rewarded with an empty house that he didn’t bother calling into. 

He could tell she wasn’t there the moment he entered, and wondered if that was from his dosage of the super serum or from his time spent working with the widow. When he focused he could hear a swift notching sound coming from outside and loosened his annoying necktie to check it out. What he found surprised him. 

Their sizable backyard included a gazebo area, pool, and seemed like a museum to James; the kind of place you’re not meant to touch despite its location. From one end of the yard Natasha had set up a circular target and stood yards away, shooting at it with a bow and arrow. He strode over to her although she ignored him and continued her intense focus on the arrow that shot out of her hands next. 

“Wow,” He spoke first, coming closer yet keeping a distance. 

“How was work?” She asked monotonously.

“Boring,” He answered honestly. “I have a lot of questions, but that can wait.” 

“Questions?” That got her attention. “About what?” 

“Just some references my new coworkers made. Guess I need to catch up on a few things. Later though,” He insisted.

“The mission comes first, James. You know that.”

“No.” 

“James--”

“Not this time!” His voice shook along with his hands. He hadn’t planned on starting this off with anger, in fact he’d told himself to avoid it. The seriousness in her eyes made him realize he'd frightened her again; well, as close to frightened as she got. With a sigh he scratched at the back of hair, sat down on brick lining beside her. “I didn't know you could shoot,” He spoke quietly.

“Clint taught me,” His change of subject reeled Natasha back in from her tense stance.

“Right,” James nodded. He had questions about that too, but decided those could wait as well. “You're good,” He said as his eyes looked over to the target.

“Not as good as him,” She sighed as she sent another arrow flying to the edge of the bullseye. “He used to tell me I was too impatient for archery.”

“You always were,” He smiled down at the grass, earning sympathy and another sigh from Natasha. 

“What's on your mind?” She asked, knowing he thought he’d scared her before. As much as she didn't want to talk about the past, she knew how hard it was to move forward without closure; she wouldn't wish that on an enemy, least of all James. 

“On the drive up here," He began, not sure he wanted to hear the answer to his question. “You said you didn't hate me...is that still true?”

“Yes. No. I don't know,” Her eyes spoke volumes of frustration her mouth couldn’t. She put the bow down and hovered near him, looking strained. 

“Thanks for the honesty,” He smirked at the ground. 

“I spent a long time hating you, but it was a you that's no longer you," She felt like she was speaking in riddles like she had before with Steve. “You...you're not the same person as before, not exactly anyways. And...I think I'm just starting to realize that. He looked off as her words sunk in, not sure how to feel. Not hating him was a good start, but a start to what? “It's confusing,” She admitted at last. “And that's not something I'm used to.” 

“I'm not trying to confuse you,” He wanted to make sure she knew that.

“What  _ are _ you trying to do?” 

“I...I'm trying to figure out who I am," He spoke as soon as the revelation occurred to him. He rose to his feet with the power of newfound purpose. “Without all the...the darkness, without someone giving me orders, telling me who to be...I want to know who I am.” He moved slowly, knowing sudden movements around her were a death wish, and cupped her face in his hands gently. “And I need you to help me,” He heard her breath catch in her throat as he leaned his forehead down till it was pressing against hers. “You're the only one that can, Natalia.” 

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as loudly as she thought she was breathing. Inexplicably, she’d always have a soft spot for James, and she was tired of fighting that. No matter how much she wished it didn’t, his hands on her cheeks felt normal, like second nature to them. She stared into his steely blue eyes longingly and knew what her answer would be. 

“Okay,” She whispered, her breath hot on his lips. “I'll help you.” 


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, but it was stuck in my head.

Ten

 

“Mmm…” James recognized the euphoric moan that escaped Natalia’s lips as the one that meant he was doing something right. They slept side by side, a tangle of limbs and bare skin, until she’d lazily woken up and pressed her backside against him. He was drowsily coming to although his body was far ahead of him, enjoying the slow writhing of her hips against his. They were stuck at a safe house somewhere in India until they could safely be extracted, and they had taken full advantage. He’d fallen asleep faster than ever after having exhausted himself on Natalia all night. 

“Mmm…” Her moan slipped into a chuckle as she could feel his arousal building behind her. She never got to let loose like this, and he wasn’t about to stop her now. All he could do was let out a groan as she teased him mercilessly. 

“Aren’t you tired?” He mumbled a whisper next to her ear. He could see the corner of her lips as she smiled and looked over her shoulder at him. Her wicked expression stirred something inside him, making him smirk and pull her roughly against him. She laughed as his metal arm roamed over her chest and he swore he could feel the heat coming off of her.

 

And suddenly he was awake. 

Everything was just like his dream: the heat, his arousal, her body pressed against his, and his arms encircling her affectionately. The only difference was the only one that mattered. Here, Natalia didn’t exist anymore, only Natasha, and she wasn’t moaning euphorically, she was laying rigid in his grasp. 

“Oh my God,” James exhaled as the realization of his mistake dawned on him. “Oh God...” He repeated as his chest started heaving and his stomach turned over. He sprang out of the bed and ran for the bathroom, leaving Natasha calling to him to no avail.

.

.

 

She knew better than to immediately start knocking, or worse, barge in by force; privacy was something she valued and respected, especially in times of personal crisis. So instead of picking the lock or kicking the door in, Natasha leaned quietly with her back on the bathroom door and listened. At first, all she heard was pacing; no pattern or rhythm, just frantic stomping. Then came the loud crashing bangs of presumably everything being knocked to the ground in angry thrashes as James lost control of his temper. Lastly, retching sounds echoed out as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl. 

Natasha felt like a child, helplessly waiting so she pulled her hair into a messy ponytail to give herself something to do while she tried to calm herself down. Being woken up by James’ erection pressed against her backside along with her name coming from him in soft groans was jarring enough to make her panic, but she reeled herself in from attacking him when she realized he was asleep.  Sleep seemed to bring out the most of James' memories and he couldn't help the way his body reacted.  She’d had a few of those dreams herself so instead of flipping out, she repeated his name louder and louder until he woke up.  She wasn't upset or disgusted, just concerned, and she'd be lying if she claimed part of her didn't revel in the old comfort of being in his arms.

The instant realization of what had happened was the worst case scenario of his reaction she imagined and standing outside the bathroom now, she wondered if she should've just let him sleep. After a few more minutes of silence, Natasha knocked on the door lightly, clearing her throat to speak.

"James?" She tried to sound as serene as possible. "Can I come in?" He didn't reply, and she wasn't sure how to respond. Her only other real relationship had been with Clint, who preferred to be left alone in moments like this. She was about to walk away when he spoke.

"It's open," James' already deep voice was strained and raspy, but she heard him clearly. 

Tentatively, Natasha turned the doorknob and entered with mute footsteps. Inside, James was sitting on the closed toilet seat with his head in his hands, looking more like the emotionally torn soldier Steve had described on the helicarrier back in DC. The bathroom floor looked like a crime scene, cluttered with everything that had once been on the countertop. She knew better than to pry into his thoughts, opting instead to wet a washcloth in the sink and approach him slowly.

When she was sure she hadn’t spooked him, Natasha sank to her knees in front of him, reaching forward with steady hands. James lifted his head out of his palms robotically and let her hold his chin with a delicate grip. His eyes were sullen, staring off behind her as she used the damp cloth to clean around his mouth and then folded it over to cool his forehead. When she cupped his cheek with her hand, he exhaled into her touch and shut his eyes. 

"I..." His lips parted to say, then shut as hot tears began to escape his closed eyes and slide down his cheeks. 

"Shhh," Natasha silenced him in a hushed volume, she didn't need to hear the apology to feel it. She set the cloth down and leaned herself in between his open legs to hold his face between her hands. "I know," she whispered, her lips close to his. Her lips felt cool against his warm cheeks as she kissed at his tears, wishing she could actually take the pain from him. She followed the trail of tears down to his lips, and pressed a chaste kiss onto his mouth, frowning at the salty taste. When she leaned back, his eyes were open, but still troubled. 

"It's going to get better," Natasha promised, her steady confidence somewhat soothing him. He didn't know she'd already sworn herself to his recovery if it took the rest of her life. With her hands still on his face, she looked at him with a stern but comforting gaze. "You believe me?"

His usually clear blue eyes were clouded now, a war waging itself behind them. He blinked a few times, but refused to look away from the safety of her emerald irises. "Yes." 

.

.

Fifteen minutes later, James emerged from the restroom alone, feeling refreshed but exhausted. Waiting for him on the bed, Natasha sat with her legs crossed Indian style and a small smile welcoming him. If he never remembered anything, he hoped he retained this sight forever. He padded across the carpet to climb into bed, and felt the urge to right a wrong. Without a word, he leaned in and kissed her properly, surprising her with its tenderness.

Natasha fought the urge to smirk at his now toothpaste flavored kiss, and did her best not to compare the past with the present but failed. His lips felt so soft against hers, vastly contrasting with the brisk time constrained moments they stole in the Red Room and the hunger driven times they snuck away during a mission. She was asking herself if this is what it would have been like to kiss Bucky Barnes when he pulled away, looking to her for a reaction. Wordlessly, she ran her fingers through his hair as a response, earning a relaxed expression from him. Like the very first night they spent together, Natasha held him in her arms and hummed a slow melody until he fell asleep; leaving the night's events in the past where they belonged.    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on Civil War?? 
> 
> (try not to spoil, even though I'm pretty sure we've all seen it lol)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't mind if you don't feel like commenting, but I hope you do. And if you do, I hope you're not cruel.


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